


Callback

by BlueMonkey, ThornyHedge



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bloodplay, Drama, M/M, Male Slash, Sexual Content, Supernatural Elements, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 140,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1548863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMonkey/pseuds/BlueMonkey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge/pseuds/ThornyHedge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aidan Turner and Dean O'Gorman are struggling actors in modern-day London's competitive theater community. When Dean lands a once-in-lifetime role, starring with handsome, legendary Richard Armitage, it threatens to tear their relationship apart--in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Auditions

**Author's Note:**

> We hope you enjoy this story about atypical vampires in the London theater community.
> 
> \---Blue and Thorny

A warm autumn sun filtered into the apartment, indicating that it was somewhere around ten, when Aidan woke. He groaned, peeked a head up to look at the world, before his eyes went wide and he shot up. 4:21 a.m., his alarm clock showed. The miserable thing hadn't gone off again. "Christ," he hissed, "bloody—"

Stumbling out and nearly tangling with the sheets, he searched for his jeans and a shirt to wear. They were a puddle at the foot end of his bed. Making his way to the kitchenette, he poured himself a quick cup of budget coffee. The thermos was there anyway, and he was already late. Nonetheless it burned his tongue, drawing another string of profanities from him. On the table before him, hidden somewhere under stacks of bills and what must be several six packs of beer from the night before—his flat mate must have had people over—lay the script for the audition today, and he was still meant to read over it and pick a nice scene. Well, no time for that now.

The Tube was at least less crowded than his intended time of departure, but the lines swam before his eyes when Aidan tried to figure out with only a half awake head which lines would impress the casting director. He didn't know. He needed this job though. They were almost out of money for the month, and it was only sixteen days in. Aidan didn't want to borrow more money than he already had from friends and family. They would start their 'find a real job' speech again—never mind that he also was a bartender at the theater closest to his home and he occasionally jumped in at his cousin's bar.

Aidan straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. He took another drink from his plastic cup of coffee—the plastic cup having being nicked from his cousin's bar—and pulled himself together. He could do this. He was going to get the part and he was going to start making some money. And he certainly wasn't going to put up with any of that 'we will pay you with exposure' shit that landed him great jobs and hardly any cash every single time.

Half a day later found him at home early with the last of the bottles of beer balancing on his knee and his shoes kicked across the room.

\- - - - 

Blond hair sticking up every which way, Dean got out of bed at 3 p.m. to find Aidan drinking the last of the beer. His stomach gave a queasy lurch, reminding him that he'd had far more than his fair share last night, with the assistance Adam and Stephen.

"I meant to do some cleaning today," he told his flat mate, reaching for a glass to fill with water. "The lads came over to celebrate the closing of 'Main Squeeze' last night and we got a bit carried away. I hope we weren't too loud."

He studied Aidan's face for a moment and took a swig of water. "How did the audition go?"

A scowl crossed the younger man's face, and he swung his legs over the arm rest to change his position in front of the television. There was a script on his lap, and beer swayed in his hand, dangling inches above the worn wooden floor. The apartment was a bargain at seven hundred pounds a month, especially with how close to most major stations in the area it was, but they hadn't had the money to redecorate or patch things up. Hence the chair in which Aidan was now was strategically placed over a considerable water stain. It had needed some creativity for how to place the table, but visitors never noticed. They had to have done a good job.

"I think okay?" he admitted, as if he wasn't that sure. "They gave me the part of understudy. At least it's the lead role's. Here's to hoping someone catches a flu and makes room, right?" He waved the script about, illustrating his current occupation. "You let Stephen get drunk? In here? Christ, he didn't crawl into my bed and take snapshots like he did last time, did he?" Aidan could sleep like a log, when he finally did. "Pity the show's over."

"Well, that's the wonder of living in London," Dean smiled. "Another's always on the horizon. Tomorrow morning I'm going down to The National to audition for 'Friendly Fire'. It's a long shot, but if I got the part..." He rolled his eyes. "Well, it's stupid to dream. Dreams don't pay the bills."

"You going to keep standing there?" Aidan pushed one foot against the free other chair. It gave way with a painful screech. The neighbors on the first floor were going to be happy with him again. "You've been saying that a lot lately, but I don't see you giving up on the stage. You could just get a job at Tesco, you know."

Dean snorted. "I will if you will," he chuckled, slipping into the chair and taking an orange from the bowl on the table. "I don't see you making coffees or cleaning bathrooms, Turner."

"Well, but _I'm_ not complaining about following my dreams! One day, I'll hit the jackpot, Deano, and I get to say I told you so." The bottle was placed against Aidan's lips for a good swig. Who knew, that Andrew character who got the role because he knew the right people could be quitting the production, and then Aidan would get to jump in and conquer the stage. That it had been his goal ever since finishing drama, which was nearly four years ago now; didn't matter. He would get there, he was confident. In the mean time, the fellow in front of him would share the rent. "How's Ads? I haven't heard much of him since he broke up with that guy that's almost twice his age, what's his name? Tell me you cut back on his alcohol yesterday."

"I could as well stop Adam drinking last night as I could have stopped a runaway bus," Dean shrugged. "Graham. His name is Graham. And he's only about twelve years older. It's not the age difference that was a problem. It's Graham's _wife._ "

Dean made short work of peeling the orange and the smell tickled Aidan's nostrils. He held out a piece to him. "They've called it quits, Adam and Graham. Adam's doing okay, I guess."

Aidan leaned his head back against the faded red couch, once made of lush velvet but having lived out its glory days many years ago. He considered the situation, the play on his lap forgotten despite having a first review in two days' time. "Yeah, but everyone knew he was married, Ads included. I'm just saying, didn't stop him before." He got up out of his chair, sauntered over to the kitchen and pulled out a bag of crisps, which he tossed in Dean's direction. "Anyway. _Friendly Fire_ , sounds like a drama. TV production?"

"It's a play. There's romance, between two men...and I like the plot," he shrugged. "And Richard Armitage has already been chosen as the star. I've always wanted to work with him. Of course, there'll be hundreds of people auditioning," he reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of crisps. "But hey, why not me?"

"Wow," Aidan sat back on his heels, "Richard Armitage? That's—that's really _big_. You think I should audition too?"

Dean's head shot up. Aidan, despite being his mate, was also serious competition. He was tall, darkly handsome, had a wonderful body and an extremely sexy Irish brogue. 

"Of course you should, Aid," he said, with only a moment's hesitation. "It's a war story...a very male-heavy cast. Plenty of roles to go around."

He hoped.

"Richard fucking Armitage," Aidan mused. "I love to listen to him talk. He has one of those really deep voices, the kind that you hear and which instantly makes you want to strip naked for him. I don't know. Is there something for me, you think?"

Dean blushed more furiously, because, having heard Richard Armitage speak previously, he had _just_ the voice to incite anyone's lust. Not to mention that he was sheer perfection physically. 

"It's a very well written play," Dean told him, feeling the need to defend his decision beyond the hotness that was its star. "It would certainly look good on my resume. Yours too."

"Anything would though," Aidan bemoaned. He poked at Dean's cheeks—oh, he had seen that flush all right. The New Zealand-born actor had a number of adorable quirks that Aidan loved to point out to embarrass him. "I think I'll look into it, but let's focus on you here. Your big inspiration is in that play, which means we need to get you in it too. Tell me how I can help. Pizza and doing lines?"

"I won't lie, Aidan," Dean said around a mouthful of crisps. "I'd give my left nut to work with Richard. I'd also probably just die if he even talked to me. I did download three pages of the script that we'll be going over tomorrow. You'd like it. It's about two men falling in love during World War 2, and having to hide it. I'll print a copy for you and we can read it together. Tonight?" 

Hopping up into a patch of golden sunlight from outside, Aidan moved to a switch to shed some light into the darkening room. He wondered if it was a coincidence that Dean sounded like he was applying for the role of the romantic interest. The whole thing sounded a bit too much like _Brokeback Mountain_ for Aidan's taste, but if Dean was going to be in a gay romantic play, then he was sure to rally some friends together and go to one of the shows. Aidan would probably, secretly, like it. "Anyway. Tonight, sure. You pay for the pizza? I'll get more beer."

Dean leaned forward and picked up one of the trade papers on the coffee table. "Yeah, sounds like a plan." He flipped through the publication until he found the page he was looking for. "Look at him," he held up the page to show a headshot of the handsome, blue-eyed celebrity they'd been discussing. "I swear to God, he hasn't aged in twenty years. Maybe thirty."

"Ask him what he does to stay that way, if you get the chance," Aidan pointed out. "It's unfair a man looks that good for that long." Richard was older than both of them—older than Graham had been to Adam—and yet the man looked as if it were only a few years. Age had done nothing to diminish the fine, strong features that Dean had to worship and which Aidan could certainly appreciate. He groaned and fell back in his chair, nudging his friend in the side with a sock-clad foot. "Is it bad that I'm looking for a job where I get to be on stage while I have the understudy for what could be a great part? I don't know what to do, Dean. I thought I'd either get the part or I'd get rejected, but I'm in limbo here."

Dean nodded sympathetically. "Aidan, you _should_ be onstage, not waiting in the wings." 

It was true. Aidan was such a good-looking man—even at his scruffiest—and quite talented. He just needed to be discovered.

"You _must_ come with me tomorrow," Dean insisted. "How about we just order in a pizza but skip the beer? I'd like us to have clear heads come morning."

"If you've got a clear head, you'd only get nervous." Aidan had seen it far too many times. "As would you if I were there waiting for you. I tell you what, I'll come with you if I'm confident you've got this in the pocket. So better convince me tonight, Deano."

_Better convince me tonight._

_Oh, Aid,_ Dean sighed to himself. He should _not_ say things like that.

"Oh, I will," he got to his feet. "I'll blow you away."

\- - - - -

New Cross was bustling with activity. A line of people stood waiting in front of the theatre building, some seated at the pavement with a script balancing on their knees and some just there, like Aidan, for moral support. Apparently more people were interested in the play than usual, for the lobby was overcrowded and Dean and Aidan were left with little choice but to wait outside.

"You're up at eleven, right?" Aidan looked at his watch. Primly on time, with eight minutes to spare, but how were they going to get to the front without seriously pissing off some people? "Uh. I didn't expect there to be _this_ many people. But hey, you'll blow them away." Aidan clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder. "You've got this." He didn't say that while he had told Dean he'd come along if he was sure of Dean's case, he mostly came along to give him that support. "Huh, with a crowd like this, you'd think you'd be auditioning with the man himself."

"Oh my god," the color quickly drained from Dean's face. "You don't suppose...he's _in_ there right now, do you?" his cold hand closed on Aidan's forearm.

Aidan had never seen his friend so unsettled or shaken by the prospect of an audition—especially one for a part he wanted so badly. "Well...no. I was just saying." Though with the amount of people here, he would not be surprised. But Aidan couldn't further discourage Dean from doing his best and securing that role. It would be the best role on his resume if he got it; it was worth that much. He pushed his way forward and tried to find something of a supervisor or an attendant. 

Apparently he needn't have bothered, because an electronic voice called, "Wilson, Paul," and a man stepped forward. "Makes no sense," Aidan muttered, "all these people waiting in line when you've got an appointed time. Well," and he turned Dean to face him, "need to go over the lines one more time?"

"Maybe they're here auditioning for bit parts," Dean suggested. "I think that's happening in another room." He nervously reached up to touch his hair and smoothed down his light blue oxford. He knew the color made his eyes look terribly blue.

"I don't think we should run the lines again," he said. "If I don't know them now, I never will, right?" He studied Aidan's face. "Are you going to sign up to read?"

Aidan shrugged. "I think I'd better be the best understudy I can be. It is a director with a name, after all...maybe he likes how I work and the next role will be great." He didn't feel like competing with all these people either. As opposed to Dean's beliefs, they all looked like they were cut out to be a romantic love interest opposite a high profile stage actor.

The man who had entered the auditioning space, came out. He looked defeated and was immediately enveloped a larger group of six people who had to be his friends. Aidan nudged Dean. "Straighten up. Chin up, script at the ready, and break a bloody leg."

"O'Gorman, Dean," said the electronic voice, and Aidan pushed him forward. "I'm treating you to the most expensive ice cream you can find when you get out, get it or no," he whispered in his ear from behind as Dean faced the door. Maybe that would give his flat mate something good to look forward to.

Dean had only a few seconds to allow a warm rush of love for Aidan sweep over him at his words of encouragement, before he opened the door to the auditorium. It was mostly dark, except for the area around the stage. He took a deep, calming breath and began walking down the aisle.

He was approached by a young man, to whom he handed his headshot and resume. Then he climbed the stairs onto the stage. "I'm Dean O'Gorman," he said, scanning the seats for signs of life.

None of the people judging him in the seats were visible from where he stood, but Dean soon found himself distracted when what was left of the light was cut off, dowsing him in darkness. A single spotlight shot into the void to an empty spot on the other side of the stage, and the silhouette of a man stepped in. He raised his chin expectantly, fully in character.

Richard.

As much as Dean had been dreading this, he couldn't fight his body's initial reaction to seeing his idol of many years. He smiled like a love struck teenager and his heart began to flutter madly.

He realized that Richard was ready to do the scene, just like that, with no hellos or pleasantries, and so he tossed the paper aside onto the floor.

"I can't believe you're here," Dean said, slipping into the role, voice hushed. "I thought you'd died in that firefight. No one told me otherwise. And years— _four_ years—have passed without a call or letter from you. I'd given you up for dead, Joseph."

"Who is he?" Richard, playing Joseph, said back without any kindness or love in his voice. "You thought I was dead? You've surely traded me in swiftly enough, John. A month, and there he was. Can you blame me for not writing to you when you were certainly not waiting for a word from me?"

"You don't understand!" Dean cried beseechingly. "There is no-one else! There has never been room for anyone else in my heart!"

Richard prowled forward like a predator with a broken, prideful heart. "Oh, but I understand! Don't try to fool me, I know what I saw!" He was supposed to stalk away and ask him about this alleged other man, but Richard decided to take the other route and throw Dean off balance. "It matters not. I have waited a long time, but no more will I be a victim of your lies. I leave tonight. That is all I came to tell you."

"Lies?!" Dean threw his arms open, declaring his innocence. "You must tell me what lies you think I've told. After the war, I spent a full year recovering from my injuries. Even now I must sometimes use a cane to get about. You may have seen me with a friend—or perhaps a nurse—but, Joseph, you have never seen me with a lover. I have never loved anyone but you."

Dean turned his back on the man, even though he had no idea what Richard might do next to rattle him. "You were _dead._ That's what we were told. I stood at your grave and I wept, Joe. And now, here you are. And you say you're leaving...again? Why come see me at all if only to break my heart again?"

"You kissed him, John." Richard sounded defeated now. "The man with the dark hair and the olive skin. Greek, is he? I don't know. I came to make you miserable, I suppose. You said forever. _I_ said forever. They were never at liberty to tell you I was dead. I spent a year in Africa, chained to a bed and without the liberty to leave the premises. No contact with the outside world. I was so desperate to return; and there was he. Replacing me."

"Demetri? He kissed _me!_ " Dean leaped to his own defense. "It was against my will. He mistook my friendship for something more. Had you stayed around to watch, you would have seen me push him away, Joseph! I cannot bear the thought of another's hands on me," he added. "Only yours."

Tears sprang in Richard's eyes. He strode forward, extending a hand to caress Dean's cheek before pulling it away and letting it fall back down to his side. "I am married, John. I am a married man now. I have a son. Had you just told me...Oh, God, what have I done?"

Dean's heart felt like a stone in his chest. 

"How was I to know?" he asked quietly, not approaching Richard. "I _buried_ you, Joseph. Had I been brave enough to perform the act, I would have joined you in that grave. And now, here you are. Alive, and yet as unattainable as if you truly had died." Finally, he turned and put a hand on Richard's shoulder. "Fate has been cruel to us. Show me his picture, will you? Your son?"

Richard looked him over appraisingly. He took a step back, glanced in the direction of the others in the room, and smiled. Then he bowed to Dean, before offering him a hand. "It was a pleasure," he spoke. Richard was back in his own skin, and Joseph had left. He instantly moved not like a man of twenty but with the grace of a man educated in graciousness by years more. When no sound came from the committee watching them, he walked Dean to the exit and opened the door for him—strategically placing himself behind it so that none would see.

"I'm so happy to have met you," Dean told him, because he honestly didn't know what else to say. "It's going to be a wonderful show." He raised a hand in parting to Richard, but the man had already started back up the aisle.

"Wow," he said upon reaching Aidan. "That was...exhilarating."

His friend knew at once. "Oh my god," Aidan grabbed him by the shoulders, "he was there, wasn't he? You look like you've seen either a ghost or a god, and I can't believe in the first." He tried to keep his voice down and escorted Dean to the bathroom area, where it was considerably quieter and where nobody would hear. "So? How did it go?"

"Good," was the first word that tumbled from Dean's mouth. "Yeah, I think it was very, very good. I was terrified." He held up his hands, both trembling noticeably. "Shit," he chuckled. "I can't even remember what happened in there. We didn’t even finish the scene. I guess it couldn't have been _that_ good if he didn't keep me around to finish,” he lamented. "I'd better pick up a copy of _The Standard_ on the way home, because there's no way I'm getting a callback."

"You just said it was very good." Aidan frowned. He had never seen Dean come from an audition looking that shaken, and he was going to find out what happened. Richard was apparently there, meaning Dean had auditioned in front of his idol. "At least tell me if he picked a scene that you prepared." He smiled, squeezing Dean's shoulders with kindness. 

"He started with the scene I'd memorized," Dean told him, running warm water over his hands and washing them with soap, just to have something to do, "and then he went off the rails. It was a wild ride. I think I did okay, Aid," he smiled. "It felt really, really good. He touched my cheek," Dean confessed, blushing, "and it felt electric."

Aidan leaned against the sink next to him. He responded with more effort to maintain his good mood, "Then what makes you think you did badly? God, you've just done a scene with Richard _Armitage_ , and look at you—you're grinning like a fiend. Miss this role, and still no harm done, because wasn't that worth it?" He crouched to Dean's level and tapped his nose to get his attention. Ah, there it was. Much better, Aidan decided. "You know what I think? I think you must have left a hell of an impression."

"It's so strange, Aidan," Dean wrinkled his forehead in thought, "it was as if I couldn't mess up, even if I tried. He was so poised and in command, and he made me feel that way as well. By all rights, I should have made a fool out of myself." He raised his hand to touch the spot on his face where Richard's hand had lingered. He could still feel the touch.

Before he could think about it too long, Aidan took his hand in his own and pulled him away from the sink and out of the bathroom. "Either way, time for ice cream. It's over now, and all we can do is wait for that phone call. Might as well make something of the day, now that we're here. Where do you want to go?"

They passed the lobby on their way out. People were still waiting for that audition with Richard. Who knew, Aidan mused, maybe not all of them got to play opposite Richard. Maybe it was just a one-off thing. He wondered if Richard had an understudy, and if he took over when Richard needed a break. Was Aidan supposed to do auditions too, being the understudy of the lead in the other play? "Did they tell you when they'd contact you if you got it?"

"Aidan, I can't remember a single thing that happened from the second I went in that door, until the time I came out," Dean admitted, shielding his eyes against the noon-time sun. "God, I feel like quite a knob right now." He grinned. "Let's head down to Oddono's. My treat. I am feeling a hot fudge brownie sundae right now. How about you?"

"That's your choice? I tell you that you can have any type of ice cream in the world and you go for that?" Aidan fished for his sunglasses and installed them on his nose. He smiled, looking straight into the sun. It was a perfect September day, not too hot and not yet too cold. "Man, if you ever consider joining the lottery and win something, remind me to remember this."

He liked being obnoxious, but Aidan felt more like it today than any other normal day. He would think it was unusual, if he decided to dwell on it, and he didn't. Aidan shrugged. "I need a beer. Adam works somewhere around here, does he not?"

"Three blocks away, at Felicity's Pub," Dean reminded him. "It's a bit early in the day, isn't it?" he bumped playfully into Aidan with his shoulder.

Aidan leaned his chin on Dean's shoulder in revenge, and tried not to get Dean to duck and be rid of him. He wasn't usually like this, he thought. Well, unless he'd had several beers. "No, mum. Look up. It's perfect weather for a beer and you know it. Besides, I'll be studying all day anyway, and why am I even justifying a beer to you? You should be agreeing with me. Where's Oddono's from here?"

"Can't get beer at Oddono's," Dean slapped his ass playfully. "Felicity's it is!" and he ducked away and dashed off down the street away from Aidan.

The audition was instantly forgotten, as Aidan chased his friend down to the corner of the street. People looked at them. But then, they always did. It was something about being a performer. People could instantly tell.

Adam was in the middle of washing glasses when he recognized Dean, and then his handsome flat mate. "Hey!" he called out warmly, "what are you—ooh, wait, audition day is it? Big day, Deano!" Only those who knew could tell that he'd just been dumped. Adam bore himself very well.

"Hello, my friend," Dean smiled across the bar at his friend. "Thanks for asking. It went quite well, in fact."

"Well, in that case," Adam smiled again in Aidan's direction, setting a mug in front of each of them, "this round's on me. Hello, Aidan."

Neither let that be said twice. Aidan reached for his glass and poured half the contents down his throat before sighing and replying, "Hi Ads. Thanks, I needed that. Pretty quiet here, isn't it?" What he meant to ask was how Adam was—but asking him directly would probably remind him of the whole deal with Graham and Aidan didn't want to go there. "Would be something, wouldn't it? If our Dean got into a play with Armitage?"

"I'd consider it a victory for us all," Adam agreed. "That man, those _eyes._ " he sighed. "I don't know how you did it, Dean. I would have turned into a pile of goo."

"I thought I would too," Dean took a sip of his beer, "but—I can't explain it—a sense of calm came over me. Confidence. It's like being near him made me feel the exact opposite of the way I was expecting it would. It was amazing. I can still feel it."

"Wish we could bottle that feeling," Adam grinned. "I'm so happy for you!"

"He hasn't got the part yet," Aidan mentioned around the rim of the glass—he preferred to drink from the bottle and Adam knew that, but it was still early and he understood—"but I think he stands a good chance. Armitage, ugh, imagine how he'd play that role. His costar is going to be so lucky."

"You've got that right," Adam turned to serve another customer.

Dean, meanwhile, had pushed his beer aside was daydreaming about a world where Joseph and John were in love.

Aidan fished out a smoke. "Maybe they add that love scene this time. The naked one, in the hay loft. Imagine that. I think I'd be in that audience more often than not."

Dean hummed absently. "What?" he asked, snapped from his reverie. He suddenly felt ravenous. "Let's get some food, what do you say? I could go for a grilled cheese."

Aidan signaled for Adam to take their order. It appeared that the fudge brownie sundae had been replaced by a grilled cheese sandwich. Aidan didn't have sufficient funds to buy Dean both. He leaned forward on the bar, his first pint nearly finished. "They are fitting costumes tomorrow," said he. "Period costumes. Period pieces look good on me. Well, they'll mostly be taking measurements, I guess. Christ, just when Mum is coming over. I bet you she'll—"

Dean's phone interrupted him. Aidan blinked and snatched the device out of his coat before Dean could reach for it himself. He grinned. Oh, sweet payback, this was going to be it. Last time Dean had had his hands on Aidan's phone, it was when a guy from the bar, who had inexplicably gotten hold of Aidan's number, had called him the following morning. Aidan, sporting a hangover, hadn't been fast enough. This was payback. The number was screened though. Oh well.

"This is Dean!"

A man spoke on the other side and with every word, Aidan blanched more. Two seconds later, he handed the phone over to Dean. "The producer wants to talk to you..."

Dean's eyes grew wide, the word _already?_ writ the clearly. He took the phone from Aidan.

"I'm sorry, this is Dean O'Gorman," he told the person on the other end of the phone. "My friend was expecting a call from someone else."

Adam joined said friend at the bar. Aidan gestured for him to keep quiet, while the producer said to Dean, "I hope I'm not calling at a bad time. We'd appreciate it if you could do another scene with us soon. Possibly today? Are you perhaps still in the area?"

"Yes, sir, I'm still nearby—a few blocks away, in fact," Dean told him. "When would you like me to return?" His eyes sought his friends', filled with hope.

"Could you make it here in half an hour?" The voice sounded hopeful. "We are aware it's very short notice, but we're very close to making a decision and we would like you to return so we might make it today."

Aidan could hear nothing of the producer, but he knew that look; Dean had nearly secured the role. Suddenly that made things a lot more real, because Dean had been doe-eyed about Richard since they first became flat mates, and Aidan knew what Richard meant to him. He was attractive, sure, but Aidan foresaw Dean's teen crush coming back if he actually landed the part. Or maybe Dean would decide Richard was a dick and Aidan was not looking at the prospect of smitten conversations and lamenting doubts right now. He scowled. Dean could be massively annoying when he was after someone.

Dazed, Dean answered to the affirmative and put down his cell phone. "Aidan," he said, "I've got to go, I'm sorry." He took out his wallet and pulled out a 20€ note and lay it on the table. "Eat my lunch? Have more beer, and give Adam a great big tip." 

He took Aidan's face in both his hands and lay a gentle kiss to his lips. "I've got a callback," he told his friend. "Thank you for believing in me," he whispered in Aidan's ear. Then, he was off.

Aidan parted his lips to speak. Instead of words coming out, he touched them carefully with his fingers and blinked, confused. There was a strong urge to run after him, pull him back for his sandwich and his beer and see if, when Dean really had to be going, he would do it again. For all their comfort and easy touches, Dean had crossed the invisible line.

Of course, by the time he had registered everything, Dean was gone and Aidan, though he might catch up with him, would make a fool of himself. Dean had plainly gone without him. "Any time," he muttered at the absence of his friend.

"Still want that grilled cheese sandwich?" Adam asked him, but Aidan shook his head. He wasn't that hungry. Instead he reached for Dean's beer and heard Adam say, "Does he do that a lot?"

"Do what?"

"Reward you for believing?"

"What? Oh...uh, no." He shrugged. "Probably wasn't thinking about what he was doing. You know how he gets when he thinks of Armitage, and guess where he's headed now."

Adam's eyes met Aidan's across the bar. "A callback? So soon?" Adam grinned. "Bloody hell...he's going to get a part."


	2. The Thanksgiving Platter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's callback goes very, very well. He, Aidan and Adam have a celebratory dinner with a very promising ending.

When Dean returned to the theater, the crowds and lines were nearly gone. As instructed, he immediately went to the auditorium's side door and knocked. "Hello," he said to the young page who answered, "I'm Dean O'Gorman. I was requested to come back and read again."

"Right this way, Mr. O'Gorman," the page recognized him from the get-go. He had probably been shown his headshot beforehand, and walked into the auditorium as if they had all been waiting for him. 

A small team of casting agents was. The youngest of the women got up and inclined her head. "We appreciate you coming here on such short notice." The door closed to his left, closing off the stage for anyone else and locking Dean there with his jury. "I'll be frank. There is one other actor who is your direct competition. We have found something we like in both of you, and you are here to convince us that it's you. Mr. Armitage has expressed his interest in a scene that's not by the book, allowing you to demonstrate John the way you see him, without having it scripted. Would you need a moment to prepare, Mr. O'Gorman?"

Dean slipped off his light jacket and hung it fastidiously over one of the chairs in the auditorium. "I'm ready," he told them. His stomach was fluttering like mad. He hoped it didn't show in his voice or demeanor as he walked up onto the stage and the spotlight hit him.

The woman sat down. Darkness swallowed her and the others until it was just Dean and the stage again. A second beam of light fell on a silhouetted shape who sat on a ledge with his back towards him. Between his fingers clung a cigarette from which he took a long, slow drag. The man turned, acknowledged him, and returned looking out over the imaginary landscape. The lips around the stub curved up. "You came."

"I probably shouldn't have," Dean walked up next to Richard and stood looking out over that same landscape. "Will I regret it?" he reached for Richard's cigarette, and when it was given freely, took a long pull before returning it.

"Will you?" Richard returned his question. He was done up in costume now, nothing fit for a production but small touches here and there. He wore a waistcoat, and there was a cane against the ledge next to him. Joseph was a well-to-do young man who had everything going for him—a dandy, almost. "I gave you the choice I cannot give myself. You are here. That means you chose to pursue this and see where it takes us." Richard took Dean's hand. He leaned closer until he was well within Dean's personal space. "I cannot stop thinking about you, John. I've tried, God knows I've tried."

"It's not just us anymore," Dean said coldly, pulling his hand away. "If it were that simple, I'd simply fall back into your arms—into your _bed._ But you have a wife and a child—a _family._ I am not a man who breaks up families, Joseph."

"Would you let it stop you now? I cannot forget you naked. Do not think of my wife. I will care for her for the rest of my life, for she is my son's mother, but she will never be my love. She knows that. I married her when she was already several weeks pregnant, John. The boy is not mine. I have never bedded her." Richard moved closer and kissed along Dean's ear. It was a test, really, to see if he would falter under anything like this. Yet out of character, Richard whispered in his ear, "Does this bother you?"

Dean shook his head, minutely. If anything, it was the exact opposite of bothersome. He lay his hand on Richard's thigh and squeezed. "You've always known exactly the right words to say, Joseph," he sighed, a hitch of very real passion in his voice. "I have never stopped loving you. Not for one moment."

Richard nodded. He stood, looked at those gathered in the audience and said, "I know enough." He wouldn't elaborate in front of Dean—it was not his final decision—yet he offered Dean a hand and slipped out of his role. "What does John mean to you?" he wanted to know. "Are there parts you draw from everyday life, or is he very different from you?"

"Well," Dean gave the question a moment's consideration, then answered, "I am interested in men, which certainly makes the role more accessible for me. However, John lived in a much more challenging time. He had to hide who he was from nearly everyone, in order just to keep living. I'm fortunate in that I don't know quite how that feels. But, based on things that happened to me when I was trying to figure out who I was, I did get glimpses of how that must feel that I can use in my acting. Richard," he looked up into the man's eyes. "This didn't _feel_ like acting. It was...effortless. Regardless of your decision, I'm so glad I got a chance to meet you, and work with you for only a short time. I've been an admirer of your work since I first saw ‘The Code' in 1982."

Richard canted his head. He smiled then, recalling that first big role. When he looked back on it now, he felt as though his performance in it was poor at best, but this man looked up to him for it, and yet didn't turn into an apologetic mess like so many others before him. Richard had to admit he had used quite a bit of his charm on this fellow, though charm alone was not always enough. "I think we both have things left to learn of our roles, most especially history. I thank you for your swift response, and I believe it's safe to say you'll be called sometime this evening or tomorrow. Mr. York here will show you out."

The page was already waiting for Dean when he turned. He brought him to the door and said, "Good evening, sir."

In the theater, the woman who had addressed Dean spoke to Richard now. "Mr. Armitage, we would have liked for him to do a monologue."

"He will be good at monologues," informed Richard. "I can tell."

Dean overheard these words and smiled to himself. He much more preferred interacting with others to monologues. But now the idea of improvising more in front of Richard, now that he'd nearly given into his desire to kiss him, was a bit intimidating.

"Thank you for having me back," he told the row of silhouettes in the silence that followed. "I'd cherish the opportunity to work with Richard."

"Everyone does," she said blithely, "thank you, Mr. O'Gorman." This time it was a dismissal. "We will contact you shortly." Mr. York stood ready to guide him out, so Dean followed him through the heavy oak door that closed with a final click.

Upon switching his phone back on, Dean noticed he had a new message. Just the one.

"You can do it. Break a leg — A."

Dean sat down on a plush velour bench in the lobby and held the phone to his heart for a few moments, a dazed smile on his face. 

He had no clue what was happening to him, but he knew it was something _big._

\- - - - - 

Dean stopped by the corner deli on the way home and picked up a rotisserie chicken, beans, and some red potatoes roasted in garlic. He was a shit cook, but he wanted to make sure Aidan knew how much he appreciated his friendship. He couldn't have asked for a better roommate.

Said roommate was, however, used to cheap potatoes, hamburgers and frozen vegetables, and had asked Adam over. Both sat staring at Dean in the kitchen from the living room as if he were preparing the meat off the bones of an extraterrestrial, beers in hand.

"He doesn't usually do this," Aidan said to Adam.

"Maybe he got the part?"

"I wasn't aware he'd get paid this much for it."

"Maybe he just wants to be nice?"

Maybe. "But Dean's way of being nice is getting me a pizza, or handing me the remote."

Aidan was still confused over what had happened that day. The blond had had two auditions, both with his idol, and while that could be the reason he was so relaxed this evening, there was also the matter of the odd kiss on the mouth. The longer Aidan thought about that however, the more he was sure the pieces were connected. Something about the auditions, other than him having a good shot at getting the part, was making Dean chipper.

"He really likes Mr. Armitage," Aidan offered. "That's probably it."

"Well," Adam looked up from his magazine, "Richard _is_ his idol. And we are getting good food for a change." He wasn't sure he had technically been invited to this royal supper. He shrugged. "I don't care, as long as it happens again."

Dean, who could overhear their entire conversation from the kitchen, only a few feet away, chuckled. "There's plenty to go around, Adam. I just felt like making something nice for dinner, and since I can't actually _cook, _I swung by West Street Deli. Believe me, if I were cooking, it'd feel like punishment...and I wanted to reward Aidan for being such a great roommate."__

__The lit candles on the table did not go unnoticed by either of them._ _

__"Great roommate," Aidan hawked, "say that again when I tell you I want to go out tonight and get shit drunk with the two of you." This uncharacteristic behavior was making him slightly uncomfortable—it would probably be better if there were no Adam and no Richard. But… candles, really?_ _

__The phone rang then. Aidan hurried to it and got there before Dean could grab for it. "Anonymous caller!" he called out, pulled his most serious expression, and answered, "Aidan Turner."_ _

__Dean's palms suddenly broke out in a cold sweat. His eyes flew to Aidan's. _Is it?_ they asked._ _

__His question was answered with a grin. "Hold on, let me get him the phone." Aidan covered the microphone with his hand and demanded in a hush, "Clean your hands!" Only then, with a smile at Adam, he handed the phone over to Dean._ _

__"Mr. O'Gorman?" the voice asked._ _

__"Yes, this is Dean," he responded, leaning back against the counter, one hand pressed over his chest in a hopeful, nervous gesture._ _

__"Hi. Norma Richardson, from 'Friendly Fire'?" sounded a chipper voice. She knew exactly how Dean was sitting on the edge of his seat, because she paused for effect and then added, "We would really like you to join the cast as John, the role you auditioned for."_ _

__The news need not be relayed, for Adam gave a cheer and betrayed how he had been listening along, and Aidan kept his reserve only a bit better when he leaned his chin on Dean's shoulder and said quietly enough not to be heard by the person on the line, "Proud of you."_ _

__Dean felt a bubble of incredulous euphoria bubble up from inside him. "Norma, thank you," he told her. "Thank you so much. What wonderful news!"_ _

__He spent the next few minutes jotting down details about first rehearsal and what to bring, not letting Aidan slip away from his side while he did._ _

__When he hung up, he turned into Aidan's embrace. "I can't believe it!" he hugged him tightly. "Am I dreaming, Aidan?"_ _

__Aidan kissed his cheek and pushed him towards the couch. He and Adam surrounded him immediately, with the aforementioned sitting on the unstable arm of the chair and the youngest between them on the floor in front of him._ _

__Adam poked his socks. "Details! What happened? And don't leave anything out!"_ _

__"I just..." Dean lay his head back against the back of the sofa, "I can't quite remember it all. I swear to you guys, everything went incredibly well...but I can hardly remember any of it. I did some improv with Richard, which was really scary, but also really cool." He chuckled and blushed. "He kissed my neck."_ _

__"I think I hate you," Adam deadpanned._ _

___I think I hate him,_ Aidan thought. _ _

__Outwardly, he steeled himself, sat forward, eyes huge. "He didn't! Like in character? Oh, wait until they do that naked hayloft scene. I bet they will. Lucky bastard."_ _

__"Oh, we were acting, of course," Dean scoffed. "He was really in character. And, instead of scaring me, somehow being around him put me at ease. I really don't get it. By all accounts, I should be crying in my beer right now. Instead," he took in a deep breath, "wait ...there's a nude scene?!"_ _

__Not wanting to make too much of a deal out of it, Aidan leaned his weight against the back of the seat. "Don't forget the food. And sure. It's usually left out because it's too edgy, but apparently there's a scene where they have sex in a barn. Considering this is Richard, and he frequently does out of the ordinary things, I just figured..."_ _

__Adam grabbed for the script. It was only an excerpt, unfortunately; no hint as to what the other scenes were going to be like. He blinked at Dean, but his smile grew wider and wider until it was slightly alarming. "Oh, Aid and I are going to be there on opening night. You had better get us the best seats in the house."_ _

__Aidan supplemented, "It's not like you've got an issue with being naked."_ _

__Dean didn't. Not really. At least, not around Aidan. He knew he had a decent enough body—and he'd been told he had an above-average ass. But could he bare it in front of a theater full of people? The thought made him blanch._ _

__"Let me get the plates," he pulled himself up from the couch._ _

__Adam got up as well. "Get the food. We can get the plates. It smells like it's close to burning, and that's a waste of expensive food."_ _

__Aidan had draped himself over the chair. One sock-clad foot maintained his balance on the coffee table. He observed as Dean fussed about the food and Adam about the plates, and reminded himself not to forget memorizing for tomorrow. Even though he was only an understudy, he felt like he had to step up his game. Dean had been paying for the most of the household for three months now. Aidan had always told himself that he would land himself a headliner role and make up for the money, but now Dean had again found a better role. It was wounded pride that propelled him to do his best. Not like he ever did anything less than that._ _

__His eyes lingered on Dean's ass. Adam caught him, and Aidan didn't pretend to be focused anywhere else. Adam didn't see things when he wasn't told of them. "If word gets out that that hayloft scene is not cut out, you'll have sold out shows every night. It is that famous."_ _

__Dean took a large platter from a high shelf. His mother had packed it for him when he moved here, saying he was supposed to use it on Thanksgiving. He hadn't. Not yet. But now, as he arranged slices of succulent chicken, perfectly browned garlic potatoes and buttery green beans on it, he felt very, very thankful for Aidan, for Adam, for the incredible luck he'd had today._ _

__Stranger still was the vibe he was getting from Aidan. As much as he loved Adam, a part of him wanted to get him fed and send him on his way, to see if the strange looks and feelings he and Aidan had been exchanging might actually amount to something...more._ _

__"Here we go, then," Dean smiled, setting down the platter. "Go ahead and start. I'm going to cut the dessert."_ _

__Aidan pulled him back into his seat. "You can cut it after we're done. We’re celebrating you getting this part together. Right, Ads?"_ _

__"Right!" Their friend sat at the ready with a fork and a knife, waiting for his food and for the signal to dig in._ _

__Dean smiled at them both. "Okay, then," he pushed the platter towards Adam. "Save some for the rest of us."_ _

__Although Adam said, "Naturally!" with mock indignation, it was a known fact that he could eat thrice his own weight and still not gain an ounce. Aidan snatched the dish away before it could reach him. "So," he piled a decent portion of food on Adam's platter, "how are you? I mean, Dean got the part and sure, that's great, but you were auditioning again too, right?"_ _

__"Uh," Adam shifted, "actually, I might just work at the bar for a while. My agent keeps sending me to auditions where they're clearly not looking for anyone my type. I try out for roles written for old men or buff guys. He tried to get me to audition for a girl’s part once. It's like he doesn't even try, and it doesn't pay the bills."_ _

__“You belong onstage," Dean agreed with Adam. You should switch to my agent, Ads," Dean told him. "Martin's really diligent and very sincere. As if he has a vested interest in helping you find a job. And, he does. He's on commission. He's certainly my hero today," Dean picked up a small piece of chicken and put it in his mouth. "Oh wow...that's good," he murmured, reaching for the serving fork._ _

__Adam leaned forward. "Hey, if I asked your agent to plant me in an audition for your show, would you be okay with that? I mean, it doesn't have to be anything big. I planned on working behind the bar more anyway. But ugh, to be in the same play as Richard..."_ _

__"I'm going to see Martin tomorrow morning," Dean told him. "I have to sign a contract. Why don't you come along?"_ _

__"You mean that?" Adam sat straighter immediately. He didn't need to prove himself opposite his two friends, yet he looked like he would be greatly indebted. "I'd appreciate it. Really."_ _

__"He knows," Aidan smiled around a forkful. The food _was_ good. He was planning on saving some leftovers to heat up in the morning. Anything beat another cup of noodles or plain rice. "Just...eat your food. You're starting to worry me." He glanced at the candles. They were an odd touch to a household that couldn't afford them. Aidan reminded himself to ask Dean later._ _

__Dean's eyes followed Aidan's, questioning silently the decision to put out candles. Of course, when Dean had put the candles into his shopping basket, he had envisioned a slightly more romantic meal with just him and Aidan._ _

__Actors had brittle temperaments. He didn't want make Aidan feel that he was anything less than amazing in any way—because he was incredible. He had always been supportive, and it meant a lot to Dean. But was there more to it? Was the feeling he had felt stirring that afternoon when he hugged Aidan more than just friendly? That had yet to be discovered._ _

__"I like the way they smell," Dean said in his own defense, answering Aidan's unasked question. "Mum always had candles on the table for special days. Today is special."_ _

__Aidan didn't contradict his words. Of course today was special. Dean got the part. He just wasn't sure if it was a good kind of special. So he gestured an acknowledgement, pretended his mouth was full, and swallowed. All the while Adam looked between them uneasily. That became discomfort, and finally Adam gave up, utterly miserable._ _

__"I saw Graham today."_ _

__"Oh, Christ!" Aidan swore at once. "Where?"_ _

__"The Bar," Adam prodded at his food._ _

__"He knows you work there?"_ _

__"He does."_ _

__Aidan sat silent. He had always liked Graham's easygoing nature, but this was too much, even for him._ _

__"Was he alone?" Dean wondered, and it was a valid question. If he'd come alone, it clearly signaled that he wanted to see Adam. If he had brought someone—specifically his wife—along. Well, that wasn't very cool._ _

__Adam failed to see the positive side of it when he nodded. "Said he was on a lunch break. So was I. Jen talked to him. Thank god she told him I don't work there anymore, but what if he comes again?"_ _

__"It's obvious he's not over you." Dean frowned. "But Adam...no matter how much you love him, he's just not available. I wish it wasn't true, but it is. And I feel very certain that there is someone special out there just dying to meet you. You just have to get out there and go fishing."_ _

__"You are aware that you're giving me the ‘more fish in the sea’ speech now, aren't you?" Adam replied bitterly._ _

__"He's right though," Aidan stood by Dean. He leaned back, balancing on the chair, and tapped the back of his fork against his lips. "It's not something a decent guy does after what Graham did, looking him up in the place he works. Didn't try to call you, did he? I knew a guy once who did that. Showed up at a show, made a bloody mess of things. It's an asshole thing to do."_ _

__"That fish speech exists for a reason, you know," Dean added gently. "And there are some really tasty, single fish out there," he added, locking eyes with Aidan. "Right, Aid?"_ _

__"Mhmn, for sure," Aidan tapped the fork once again to his lips. He eyed Dean for a second before clasping Adam's hand with his own. "How about we go hunting tomorrow? Tonight is sort of Dean's night, I promised, but I'll be all yours tomorrow. Dean, you come along too?"_ _

__"Hunting?" Dean chuckled. "Aren't we a little old for that?"_ _

__"Just because you _found_ Mr. Wonderful today doesn't mean the rest of us don't want a shot," Adam informed him. "Yeah, I'll go along—as long as you two promise not to ogle one another all night."_ _

__"I...what?" Dean blushed._ _

__"Oh, come off it," Aidan chimed in playfully, "I wouldn't ogle him much. Someone's gotta look after him. And besides, he found Mr. Wonderful today, didn't he?" He raised a brow at Dean. Truth be told, Aidan was becoming interested in pushing Dean for clarity. He had been throwing a few hints too many lately, but every time that Aidan had responded with a challenge of his own, they had both returned to their own corners of the ring._ _

__"But, you know," Dean fiddled with his collar, "it's nice to know that I have you two to fall back on."_ _

__"And alcohol," Aidan reminded helpfully._ _

__Adam snorted. He wasn't much of a drinker except for some expensive cocktails that were, well, too expensive to drink regularly. "Though considering what you said, I'd hold out a few weeks first. Don't let Aid coax you into anything."_ _

__Aidan flashed his friend a glare that broke into amusement a second later. "Trust me, I tried that. Doesn't work."_ _

__Dean grew very quiet, then fixed both of them with a very sober blue-eyed gaze. "I don't need to get drunk," he told them. "I don't need to get drunk for...well, for whatever is on your collective minds. If anything, I'd much rather be sober as a judge."  
"Oh...wow," Adam gasped. "On that note, I should probably be going."_ _

__"Nonsense, we still have dessert." Aidan turned to Dean. "Our collective minds say Ads needs to have a bit of fun. God knows _I_ could do with some fun. As could you, unless you want to hold out for Armitage." Aidan challenged him to contradict it. "And that dessert smells bloody incredible."_ _

__Dean put a hand over his already full stomach and smiled in satisfaction. "It's pumpkin torte," he told them. "Are you sure you want it now? I'm so full already."_ _

__At Aidan's imploring look however, he got up with a put-upon sigh and went to their tiny kitchen. He opened the oven where the confection had been warming and the most incredible smell of nutmeg and cinnamon wafted out. "Mmmm," he groaned, almost unconsciously._ _

__It only took another minute for the smell to reach the living area, and Dean came back out with a plate holding a slice and a fork for each of them. "Enjoy," he encouraged, handing them plates of whip cream topped treats._ _

__Lazy as he was, Aidan fetched the plate and draped himself over the couch. The dessert balanced on his stomach. It did smell amazing. "Here," he tossed Adam the script for his own play to read. "I need to have read all of it by tonight. What do you think?"_ _

__Adam leafed through it. "Understudy, right? The Patrick fellow?"_ _

__"That's the one."_ _

__"He's a...martyr."_ _

__"Yup. You know how good I am at dying on stage. The crowd is going to love me."_ _

__Dean's heart clenched at the idea of having to watch Aidan die—onstage or off. "Please don't take this the wrong way," he told him, "but I'm not all that eager to watch you die, Aidan. But I have a feeling your director's going to kill you if you don't get busy on that script."_ _

__"John dies, doesn't he?" Aidan asked. He didn't think it was such a big deal. "Hold on," he pointed at his lap, "delicious food first. Just, you know," he said to Adam, "I can't stick around all night. Sorry."_ _

__Dean huffed air out his nose in annoyance. He didn't want to say anything out loud about Aidan's memorization habits, because he always some how managed to get it done—like an annoying savant._ _

__"Why would you think John dies? Have you seen the entire script?" Dean wondered. Dean hadn't, and was rather hoping there might actually be a happy ending for John and Joseph._ _

__" _No,_ " Aidan made a gesture like this was common knowledge, "I read the wiki page. John is assaulted and dies near the end. That's what makes it so tragic. You didn't know he dies?" He stuffed another piece into his mouth, as always insatiable when it came to good food. "This is really good. Tastes like homemade.”_ _

__The news of his character's demise was a bit unsettling, but Dean didn't want to pursue it. Not right now._ _

__“You know what?” he said instead. “Maybe, if this job starts to pay well, I'll take a cooking class. I've always wanted to. Mum, bless her heart, always wanted to teach me, but I hadn't the patience for it."_ _

__A wave of homesickness washed over him then, ambushing out of nowhere, and involuntary tears came to his eyes. "Oh, _hell_ ," he chuckled. "What's come over me? Must be the excitement of the day. I'm sorry." He swiped the tears away. _ _

__Aidan was about to go on a monologue that you could still buy ingredients at the deli and then make it yourself at home. Apparently there were ready-to-bake mixes that only required adding of milk, or whatever you put into cakes and tortes. Aidan didn't know, because he never cooked unless it was noodles or the rare omelet. His words were swallowed when Dean suddenly teared up._ _

__He looked around, out of his depth. Aidan never knew how to handle grown men who cried. The only time he had cried in his adult years had been that one time out of frustration, and he knew how to deal with frustration. This, this wasn't frustration. It was Adam who got up and pulled Dean into a hug, and apparently understood. "You should save up and visit them sometime soon," Aidan heard him say, "or ask them over. I'm sure they'd love to be invited here."_ _

__Apparently Adam also needed consolation, and why wouldn't he? He was dealing with the loss of a man he'd been sleeping with faithfully and hopefully for several years. Dean squeezed Adam's hand._ _

__"I'm sorry, guys. Honest," he told them. "I didn't mean to cast a pall over the evening. "It's just that my first reaction after sharing this good news with you two is to share it with my mother...which I will do in the morning, because the three of us are going out tonight. Right?" he looked around at the two of them._ _

__"Yeah, sorry, that'll be tomorrow," Aidan winced. He pointed at the script. "I need to study tonight. You should go if you want to though."_ _

__"But I thought..." Dean wrinkled brow in confusion. "Well, I applaud your discipline, Aidan. It's probably for the best. I'm supposed to see Martin at 9 a.m.. You are going to come along too, right, Ads? I can give you the address before you go home."_ _

__He got up and pulled Adam to his feet. He reached into his wallet and pulled out Martin Freeman's business card so that Adam could take a photo of it on his cell. "Meet me there at 8:45?" he asked his friend. "I’m glad you were here tonight."_ _

__Aidan gestured for Adam to come over to him and hugged him with a manly pat on the back. He put his plate away and smiled apologetically at Dean for having plans that couldn't be rescheduled._ _

__As soon as Adam was gone, Aidan sank further into the couch. He tapped his fork against his lips again. "We'll go out tomorrow, okay? It'll be fun. When was the last time we were free at the same time?"_ _

__"It doesn't happen nearly often enough," Dean agreed, reaching for the fork. "Let me wash that for you."_ _

__The fork wasn't released—quite the opposite. Aidan hid it between himself and the couch. He looked at Dean with challenge writ in his eyes. Dean was too good a guy to be his roommate sometimes._ _

__"Seriously?" Dean grinned, taking a step closer. "You're going to make me work for it?"_ _

__"You going to stop being so damn domestic?" Aidan expertly blocked Dean's path to the fork with his own body._ _

__"Not if it keeps you from being so damn adorable," Dean stepped even closer, drawing himself flush against his roommate. His eyes searched Aidan's face. "What's gotten into you tonight?"_ _

__Aidan looked between them. "Not like you are acting any more normal. Candles, Dean?" He quirked an eyebrow and pushed back. Dean wasn't getting the fork, but he was close to getting something else entirely._ _

__"I just wanted them," Dean told him, not backing away. "I thought it'd be nice, for a change. Something special. You and me."_ _

__"On the dinner table?" Because he had to point that out. Aidan was holding his breath, waiting for Dean to confirm that this was okay—that Aidan showing interest wouldn't mess things up. And oh, he made sure he showed Dean in subtle ways, be it the way he reclined on the couch in hopes of having Dean close the gap, or his eyes cast low._ _

__Dean huffed in feigned annoyance at the question. "You deserve my thanks, Aidan. You always support me. This thing today—it was a long shot. But you didn't tell me that. You talked to me like I already had the part. You got me to believe it. Your support means the world to me," he confessed. "I hope you know that."_ _

__There was little more than heartfelt gratitude between friends in those words to Aidan. He smiled. It could have been a brilliant smile, but it ended up being drab. "Yeah, I know," said he. "You're much better than you keep telling yourself, you know." He handed the fork back._ _

__Dean reached for the fork, closing his hand around Aidan's and pulling him closer. "I ought to cite you for fork-napping." His lips were inches from his friend's._ _

__The mixed signals confused his friend. _Oh, what the hell?_ thought Aidan. The worst that could happen was awkwardness that would be there if Dean started coming home with story after story about Richard. "You do that," he said, "or cite me for _this._ " _ _

__Aidan lurched forward and started kissing him._ _


	3. May the Best Man Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Aidan take some time to discover one another. Adam gets a role. Richard and Dean meet for the first time as co-stars. Dean's understudy is a bit of a weenie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: We love Rob Kazinsky. Most of the time when we write about him, he's delightful. But not in this particular story. He does make such a sexy antagonist.

Dean froze, but only momentarily. He wanted this—a kiss, maybe more. The hand not still grasping the fork lifted to Aidan's cheek, pulling him in to deepen the contact, and for a few brief moments he felt a strong flare of passion. Then reason took over.

He pulled away and studied Aidan's face. "Is this going to be weird?"

And although Aidan's heart beat nervously, the man shook his head. He kissed him again, more firmly. Dean wanted this? No teasing that was strictly between friends, no holding out for Richard?

It felt...good.

Aidan tasted like cinnamon and his hair—which Dean had longed to truly touch for years—felt exactly the way Dean dreamed it would. "I've wanted to do that for awhile now," Dean admitted, laying his forehead against Aidan's. "Kiss you."

Aidan searched Dean's eyes. "You could have kissed me any time and I would have been okay with it." He pressed forward, kissing him again. It was intoxicating to have Dean's lips yield to his own. Aidan gave him no quarter. Soon he was up on his knees, but then suddenly he pulled Dean on top of him.

Dean chuckled and straddled his hips readily, a knee to each side. "Sometimes," he mused, "it's like you can barely stand me. But not today." 

"You're infuriatingly dense sometimes; can you blame me?" 

Aidan had thrown hints, so many of them. He was generally easy with familiarity, but he never whispered in anyone else's ears, nor touched them as often as he did Dean—tentative touches that should have let him know he wanted him.

The couch creaked under their combined weight and movement. The neighbors would know. Aidan didn't care. He wanted to show his roommate all corners of the room, and consequences be damned. His mouth latched onto Dean's collarbone, just under the line his shirt could cover up, and he sucked hard. 

They made out on the couch for an hour or so, until neither of them could hide the fact that they were both painfully hard.

"I'd like to take care of that for you," Dean told him, "if you don't mind going to second base. We shouldn't go further though. Not yet."

There were plenty of comments to be made about domesticity—Aidan wanted more than just a feel; he wasn't _fourteen_ anymore—but the idea of Dean doing anything was better than stopping it here. He unbuttoned his jeans at once, panting already. "Yeah, okay. Couch? Bed?"

"Right here," Dean got on his knees on the floor between Aidan's spread thighs, "on the couch. You're not just _some guy_ , Aidan. You're my best friend and roommate. And this is too important for us to rush through." He slid his hands up Aidan's denim clad thigh and to the waistband of his jeans, gently encouraging Aidan to let him slip them down.

"Just...do it already," Aidan groaned. His cock was straining against his jeans. Instead of allowing Dean, he pushed them down himself, his lips swollen as he looked at his friend. "Fuck, Dean. Don't make me wait like that."

"But you're so pretty when you pout," Dean's eyes were not on Aidan's face, however. Aidan's dick was engorged and dripping, and Dean knew he was responsible for it, for better or worse. He had a strong desire to taste but wanted to save that. He didn't want to rush things. The notion seemed a bit girlish, yet he didn't care. Aidan was far too valuable as a friend to lose as a lover.

He reached out his hand and grasped the hot, thick flesh. "Beautiful," he told Aidan, and he began to pump.

The couch creaked under the motion of Dean stroking Aidan and Aidan rolling his hips up. He pulled Dean down for a kiss, but soon moved him back again to take off his shirt. If Aidan was something decidedly not, it was body shy. Dean was being so careful with him that he needed to send him a message. Insistent hands tugged on Dean's shirt next. Aidan wasn't sure whether Dean wanted to get naked, but it was worth a try.

Dean smiled crookedly and pulled his blue oxford over his head, baring a chest surprisingly furry with dark blond hair. The action made the hair on his head go every which way, but no matter. He lowered himself back down, half laying on Aidan, but still allowing himself access to Aidan's cock. 

"I like you like this," Dean breathed in his ear, "half undressed; vulnerable to my attack." He moved his hand back its original task, nibbling on Aidan's earlobe as he did so.

"Oh," Aidan laughed hoarsely, properly excited over Dean showing his tougher skin. The chuckle ended in a groan and in his head falling back against the side of the couch. He told himself he wasn't giddy as a schoolgirl over Dean doing this to him, but suffice it to say that he longed to do this again, and again. His hips moved in unison with Dean's hand, and his breath quickened. Aidan worried his lip without knowing he did it.

All too soon, his legs quivered and he bit down on Dean's shoulder. Aidan's hands latched onto Dean's back, and a pearly substance unexpectedly coated his roommate's hands. "—Fuck, sorry." It was too quick, barely five minutes.

"Mmm," Dean ran his fingers through the jizz on Aidan's stomach. "Don't be sorry. I wanted it. You did too. And it was so _hot_ watching you, hearing you. I'd like to hear it again, soon."

Dean got to his feet and plucked a couple of Kleenex from a box on their end table. Tenderly, he cleaned Aidan up, then his own hand, all the while studying Aidan's face. "Still like me, then?"

Aidan laughed throatily. Trust his straight-laced, too-kind-for-his-own-good roommate to wonder about these things when he’d just gotten him off. Part of him wanted to soil him, and another part hoped Dean would never change his ways. In one swift movement, ignoring his practical nakedness, Aidan turned them around and pinned Dean under him. He had the zipper undone within a second and his hand shoved in down them the next. "Your turn."

Dean blushed furiously at the flesh-on-flesh contact. When he'd gotten up that morning, he'd expected a typical, humdrum day. Instead, two of his most fervent dreams had come true.

He threw his arms around Aidan's neck as his friend brought him off with embarrassing swiftness, for which he didn't bother to apologize. They both knew it had been awhile since either of them had been with anyone other than their own hands.

"I want us to go slowly," Dean told him after he kissed him one more time. "We already live together, Aidan. And I think we already love one another. I don't want this to change either of those things."

Aidan parted his lips, needing to comment. Though he was spot-on about his desire for his roommate, Dean had just assumed there and then that Aidan loved him, and if there was any etiquette for these things, it was that one did not just assume something of that gravity. He wiped his dirty hands on his own stomach—he needed a shower anyway. "...Are you asking me on a date?"

"I suppose I am," Dean smiled. "Would you like to? A proper one. Dinner, a movie or show if you like...and then we come home, together." He chuckled with a realization. "I guess it's not much different than the way our lives are now, honestly. But we'd be together—and there could be kissing."

"And sex." Aidan liked that prospect. He grinned predatorily at the man under him. "Out of curiosity, you really haven't noticed the hints I've been throwing you?" Aidan had planned to up his game the next day during the night on the town. They only needed to have circumvented Adam and Aidan would have pushed Dean flush against a wall somewhere, alcohol on his breath to have something to blame potential rejection on, but little enough to still know exactly what he was doing.

Well, those had been the plans, but evidently they were no longer necessary. Aidan could use a smoke. Between that and kissing Dean though, the choice was easy. "I'd like a movie. I mean, if we were having dinner, I don't think I'd have the patience to wait for dessert."

" _I_ would be your dessert," Dean told him. "And you wouldn't have to wait long. I saw your signals. But you're a flirty guy, Aid. I wasn't sure. Today...well, you cemented it."

Aidan leaned in and nudged the tip of his tongue against Dean's lip. "I _am_ sharing a house with you. If I weren't that interested, I wouldn't have done it." Because if things would go wrong, only trouble would come of it. He tried to see if he could extract another kiss. Aidan was perfectly content pinning Dean down and stealing kiss after kiss from him. Going slow didn't mean he had to refrain from wanting to kiss him—or at least he hoped it didn't.

Hours passed there on the couch before they looked up and realized it was nearly two in the morning.

"Ah, shit," Dean muttered. "I have to meet Adam in six hours. And you haven't touched your script. We should get to bed, Aidan," he advised.

"I've been waiting all night for you to say that." But Aidan got off the couch with great reluctance. He extended a hand to Dean and then looked at the forgotten script, lying abandoned on the table. He really ought to catch up on the main scenes so he wouldn't end up looking like a fool. "Uh. We've got some energy drinks left, right? I can't go to bed now. Christ, where did the time go?"

"I'm beat," Dean admitted, "but you have until tomorrow afternoon to show up. Take an hour, look over it," he yawned, "but I have _gotta_ get some shut-eye." He tousled Aidan's already messy curls and kissed his cheek. "Don't stay up too late."

Aidan smiled at him. When Dean turned around, it didn't leave. It only sank in now, how he had just been kissing the man he had been having dirty thoughts about and kinder hopes of for some time now. Warmth spread in his chest and fanned out everywhere. "Just an hour," he promised to the retreating form. Aidan was starting to fall head over heels for him, now that his interest in Dean was allowed.

Of course he didn't stick to one hour. When Dean's rummaging woke him six hours later, Aidan found himself groggy and passed out on the couch for what couldn't have been more than two hours. He nearly groaned, but he was too tired for even that, so he just pretended to be asleep so that maybe sleep would actually be fooled by him and return.

Dean leaned over him, smelling of cologne and coffee, and kissed his lips gently. "I'm sorry I kept you up so late, Aid," he apologized. "It's only seven forty-five. You can still catch a few hours if you go to bed," he smoothed back soft, disheveled curls. "Good luck today," he kissed his nose, grabbed his satchel and was gone.

\- - - - - 

"All set?"

Richard toweled his hair dry. Rehearsals were never his favorite part of being a stage actor. The bustle, the long days and the amount of waiting for others could be bothersome for some, but for a man who practically lived during the night, it was tiresome as well. He looked for a jacket, wrapped it around his shoulders, and decided it was good enough to leave his dressing room with.

"Mr. Stott," he acknowledged the man who’d knocked on his door. "I suspect you're here to make sure I show up."

"That you don't fall asleep, you mean."

Richard chuckled. "I see my reputation precedes me. Well, I'm here now and I know the layout of the place. I am sure you have other places to be." A glance, and he had the man apologizing and scurrying off. Richard smiled. He made it to the control room and looked through the glass to the crowd below. Stage hands were setting up equipment, one man sat sketching something in a seat, but most of all there were just a lot of new faces. He recognized the men he had auditioned with—Cemal, a gorgeous Turkish actor passing as a Greek; Rose, who was young and inexperienced but who had blown them away by her ability to step outside herself; and Dean, who would play his romantic interest. There was a man talking to him that he did not recognize.

Adam stilled when Dean stopped talking and put his hand on his arm. He looked over to his friend to find him raising a hand in a wave to greet Richard, who'd just stepped onto the stage. 

"Would you like to meet him?" Dean wondered, getting to his feet.

"Are you _kidding?_ " Adam shot up, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Of course I do!"

Dean led the way to the stairs at the side of the stage and the pair ascended.

"Good morning, Richard," Dean greeting him. "This is Adam Brown. Our agent recommended him in the role of Casey just this morning. He'd heard Peter was having some trouble finding the right person for the spot. He hired Adam after just a short reading."

"It's a genuine pleasure to meet you," Adam extended his hand. 

Richard winced at the bright stage light before realizing he had been drawn into a conversation until it was too late to politely escape it. "Mr. Brown," he searched for the quickest thing that came to mind, "it is a pleasure to find someone has been found for the part. Most of the actors were interested in your friend's role. So few applied for Casey. And they were a lackluster bunch. Yes, I think you'll do just fine." Richard pushed forward to the cafeteria for his morning caffeine.

"He looks a bit hung-over...or something," Dean said in the awkward silence Richard left in his wake. "But at least you got his seal of approval. Oh my god, Adam. We're in show together—with Richard _fucking_ Armitage!" He threw his arms around Adam's shoulders and hugged him tightly.

"That's _Mr._ Armitage," a man dryly commented on their left. "You didn't call him _Richard fucking Armitage_ to his face, did you?"

The pair turned to see a man much taller than the two of them with artfully disheveled dark hair and handsome features.

"Of course not," Dean mumbled contritely. "But there's nothing wrong with a bit of enthusiasm over our roles, is there? I'm Dean," he extended his hand.

The man canted his head as though these two men before him were a new species. A coldness emanated from him, cloaked in a layer of politeness. "Lee Pace," he introduced himself. "Mr. Armitage's agent. You call me Mr. Pace. It is customary to call Richard Mr. Armitage. So, you are the one who will be John. I must admit, he has spoken higher of you than I can now imagine."

Dean unconsciously moved a little bit closer to Adam under the scrutiny of Richard's agent. 

"I'm a long-time admirer of Mr. Armitage's work," Dean explained. "It's an honor to be able to work with him. I'm sure you'll find his faith in me is well-founded, Mr. Pace. At any rate, it was nice meeting you." He closed his hand around Adam's upper arm and guided him away and backstage.

"Okay," he sighed mournfully when they got there, "I'm an idiot."

Adam patted him on the back as a friendly gesture. "You're not. You're just looking forward to working with Richard, is all. Mr. Pace doesn't seem like a very nice man, I don't think." He scrunched up his nose. "We're all just men. I don't see why he has to be difficult about it."

At that moment Richard emerged. He was looking for someone, his script in his hand, but stopped when he saw Dean. "Ah, there you are! Do you have a minute?"

"Of course I do," Dean smiled. "I'll catch up with you soon, Adam," he told his friend, and followed Richard deeper into the theater. 

Richard noticed he wasn't carrying a script of his own and, upon passing a small pile conveniently there for backup, he picked one up and handed it over. He searched for an empty room and sat down on a crate, finding nobody in the storage room. A single light bulb lit the space. "Have you gone over John's motives yet?" he wondered. "I've been considering Joseph's motives for doing what he does, but I believe they might be intertwined. It would be good if we could discuss this."

Dean _had_ read and marked up his script a bit, but prior experience had led him to believe that the director always, in the end, made those sorts of decisions, so he hadn't gotten that deeply into John's motivations. Still, he had thoughts.

"John's in love," Dean shrugged and sat down facing Richard, "which is—after revenge and greed—probably the strongest motivator on earth. He lives at a time when men are expected to behave a certain way...but his heart tells him differently. He and Joseph, not only because of their relationship, but because of the war itself, have shared such closeness. He craves it, as much as it scares him."

"But it's the war that pulls them apart eventually," Richard wondered. "I think it's Joseph who persuades John at first, but he is the first who is willing to believe John doesn't love him anymore. That means Joseph pretends he is confident, puts up a front to hide the insecurities that rattle him. It's John who is the stronger of them."

"I don't know about John being strong," Dean wrinkled his forehead. "I think he was blinded by love and had more than a slight death wish when he volunteered to enter the war. It makes him look foolish and way too optimistic. I've been trying to figure out how to temper that. And it isn't the war that pulls them apart. It's the luck of where they were sent for medical treatment. That, coupled with poor record-keeping and an overall lack of communication in all that chaos. In today's world, can you imagine what would happen if someone were erroneously reported dead?"

Richard didn't reply. He perused the script for a particular dialog, then handed it over to Dean. His hands, when they touched, were cool. "Here. It is where they meet the second time. The first one was chance but the second time, it was definitely John seeking him out. Like in the Army. I would not call it a death wish rather than a wish to truly live and love. He knows his heart is bound to this man enough to make him do foolish things."

Dean studied Richard's face as he spoke and smiled gently. "Yes," he agreed. “By the time Joseph is drafted, John has already decided that he’d follow him to the ends of the earth.

"Did you know,” Richard sat back and observed Dean when he said next, "they are planning on doing the love scene in the hayloft. How do you feel about that?"

"Hrm," Dean thumbed through the bundle of paper on his lap. "That scene isn't in the script, Richard. Unless you have a different copy than I do."

"No, I meant it as I said it. They are planning on it. Whether they go through with it depends on our willingness to enact it for an audience. I have said it would be a challenge that I welcome, but I would retract that if it made you uncomfortable."

Richard knew exactly where to apply pressure. There was no greater challenge for an actor than to overcome discomfort. To be able to assume the most diverse of roles, one had to fully surrender.

"Richard..." Dean got to his feet, "it would not be a hardship enacting a romantic scene with you. I promise you that. I've," he had the decency to blush, "well, I've found you attractive since the first time I saw your face—larger than life on a big screen. I was eleven."

In the faint light of the backstage storage, Richard got up. He seemed unsurprised at the answer, and he wasn't. Many had come to audition for the part of John after Richard's name had been tied to Joseph. It was a prestigious role by itself, and Richard a desired costar, but it was the physical attraction that had had many falter when they tried to convince the casting directors of their claim on the role. "Will it not get in the way?" Richard needed to know. "It is an emotional scene, Mr. O'Gorman, and we are but human. Will you be able to handle it professionally?" He pondered, then added, "Are you seeing someone?"

"I have a flat mate—a friend—with whom I'm..." Dean struggled for a definition, then gave up. "This is a _play,_ Richard," he settled upon finally, "and we are showmen. I won't disappoint you." Dean picked at the label on a nearby carton. "Why did you choose me?"

Sliding closer, Richard circled Dean. He was romantically involved then. Good. It would be better for the part. Nonetheless Richard replied quite matter-of-factly, were it not for his deep voice that had the ability to turn grown people into a faint mess, "Because there is chemistry between us. Joseph loves John. It helps if I can understand my character." Richard smiled to himself, circled around Dean and sat down in front of him again. "You fit the role."

Dean was both unnerved and turned on by Richard. "Regardless of your reasons, I'm grateful. As I said, I've always dreamed of working with you. I don't feel any shame admitting it." He pulled his jacket around him, slightly chilled. "Are we...are we done here?"

A low chuckle. "Does my presence make you uncomfortable now?" Richard closed the script. He sighed out contentedly. "It will be a good play. I look forward to working with you, Dean. You don't mind me calling you Dean, do you?" Everything about Richard said that it wasn't a request, really. "A word though, and you did not hear it from me. I had no control over the selection of your understudy, and I need to make myself clear in that chemistry does not exist between him and I. I selfishly hope you will give him no chance to share the stage with me."

"I'll do everything in my power to keep that from happening," Dean said in all honesty. "And it's not you making me nervous, Richard. I...I find you very compelling. I met your agent, Mr. Pace, earlier. He made me a bit nervous, I must admit. I don't think he found my excitement about working with you to be very proper. And he says I'm to call you 'Mr. Armitage.' Do you want that also?"

Laughter pealed unexpectedly from the other man's lips. "Oh, Lee. I'm afraid you've been on the wrong side of one of his jokes. He is a peculiar man, but there is none more faithful than he. A good friend. No, you should definitely call me Richard as many times as you can while within his presence. But you're right. People might be looking for us." Richard extended a hand. "It will be a pleasure working with you, I have no doubt." He rose to his feet, paused for Dean, then walked back to the main stage, where Lee indeed immediately interfered.

"Richard. The director wants to see you."

"Well, we should not keep him waiting then. See you, Dean." Richard allowed Lee to guide him away from the crowd, but he threw an amused look at Dean over his shoulder twice.

Adam approached Dean right away. "You're grinning from ear to ear," Adam told him. "What the hell just happened?"

"I think I've just given permission for some serious love scenes with Richard," Dean told him. "And I may well be taking off my clothes."

Adam gasped—and clapped a hand before his mouth before he could draw anyone else's attention. "You mean you're doing them?" he whispered loud enough for it to be as clear as if he'd spoken normally, and the effort was as unnecessary as it was typically Adam. "The love scenes, I mean? That's—oh, I'm so glad I'm not in your shoes, I'd be so nervous. That's incredible! Don't tell Aidan just yet though. It'll be a surprise for opening night." 

"I have to tell Aidan," Dean looked Adam in the eye. "This isn't something you keep from someone...well, someone that you're dating, that is." He smiled. "He and I—last night...."

"Dating?" Adam whispered even louder now. People were bound to notice, but he realized it quickly himself and reined himself in. "You slept with him! Thank God, finally. I was beginning to feel bad for him." Adam grinned from ear to ear. "You, my friend, are very lucky."

"Well, um...not quite yet," Dean stilled Adam's exuberance with a hand on his arm, "but we kissed—made out a bit, and there was touching. I didn't think we should rush it, you know? Do you think I should have...right out of the chute and all?"

"Well, it is Aidan. You remember him when he was with that Russell fellow? Had sex more than they actually talked, despite the guy's best efforts." He was only messing with Dean though. Adam smiled angelically. "He wouldn't mind, all I am saying."

Dean didn't like thinking about Russell. He'd never really liked him much. And he definitely didn't want to think about the copious, hot sex he had had with Aidan. 

"I was just testing the waters," he explained, running a nervous hand through his hair. "I'm not sure I can live up to the Legend of Russell, you know?"

Adam snorted. "The Legend of Russell is only that he had a big—you know. They had nothing in common. Plus, there was that sex addiction. Even Aidan got tired of it at last. You shouldn't compare him to you. You've been good friends for so long, obviously you can actually spend time together without having to resort to ways to keep from talking. I'm happy for you, Dean, and I'm happy for him."

It was then that finally someone clapped his hands for attention and the group turned in unison to a man in front of the stage. "Welcome!" he spoke magnanimously. "You have all been selected to participate in this adventure. Well done! We would like to start testing some scenes, so if all of you could take a seat in the first few rows, that would be great."

"I'm so glad you're here with me," Dean squeezed Adam's upper arm warmly as the pair slipped into seats in the front row of the theater. Dean didn't anticipate he'd be doing a lot of sitting that day.

The director took the stage soon after. The lights dimmed and a single spotlight pointed all eyes in his direction. He smiled kindly. Dean didn't notice Richard having sat down next to him until he leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Peter’s a brilliant guy. Have you worked with him before?"

Dean shook his head. "He seems very familiar to me, though. It was so dark the day of the audition, I couldn't see who was sitting in the audience."

"He was there," Richard clarified. "Mr. Jackson is a very compelling storyteller. You'll love him." He sat back in his seat, and from that moment on his focus on the director, still delivering a speech that was having the audience chuckle, was undivided.

Adam, next to Dean, leaned back. His eyes twinkled in rapture. He had only a small part, but one could tell he was prepared to do his utmost best not to let anyone down. When Mr. Jackson finally took a bow, all of the audience got up to give him a standing ovation, and Adam was one of the first.

They were each called onto the stage depending on the role they played; Richard came first and took the stage together with another man, Luke, who was introduced as his understudy. They shook hands and bowed before the audience. Then Dean was up.

From the second row, another man rose from his seat. He was blond and handsome, taller than Dean—and more refined in many ways. He reached the stage before Dean did and observed the crowd before him with the confidence of a man who knew his chance would come.

After they had been introduced, Dean turned to his understudy, offering his hand to shake. "Dean O'Gorman," he told him. "I understand the competition for this part was very intense. I look forward to seeing your work."

"Robert," the man said with only a cursory glance. The handshake he gave was limp—barely interested. "I do wonder how you managed to get the part. You look so average, Dean."

Compared to Robert, he _was_ rather average. Rob was gorgeous and clearly quite fit. Dean, in the few seconds they spoke, got the feeling that working onstage nude wouldn't phase Rob at all. Dean found himself questioning Richard's choice, until he remembered that he was the one whom Richard picked to be his co-star. Not this guy. It brought a confident smile to his face.

"It's going to be a wild ride," he chuckled. "Strap in, Rob."

Rob raised a brow. He responded with restored confidence, a small pause later, "That it will be. I have every intention of being John by opening night. May the best man win, Dean." And that was obviously Rob, judging from the smug look on his face.

Several more actors were called on stage, until Mr. Jackson clapped his hands. "All right! I thought I'd use today for everyone to look each other up and discuss your characters, perhaps try out some scenes. The stage is yours. If there are any questions, feel free to ask. We will commence the official rehearsals tomorrow, nine sharp."

Dean immediately gravitated in Adam's direction. "Seems my understudy is a bit of a douche," he whispered to his friend. "I need to watch my back...and I should probably be working with Richard right now before Rob swoops in and decides to take over." He picked up the script he'd made some notes on. "Wish me luck."

It was too late. Rob had already found Richard and was shaking hands as Dean turned. Richard appeared amiable but distant. As soon as his eyes met with Dean's, he excused himself and walked up to him. When Rob didn't wiggle his way in between them, Richard grinned elated. "Hi. I warned you about him, remember? Want to practice?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." 

They spent the next hour or so sitting together, reading through some of the longer scenes. Dean found himself mesmerized by the sound of Richard's sonorous, deep voice to the point where sometimes the words simply vanished, leaving him with nothing but the sensation of being caressed by the sound.

Finally, when Richard had to gently clear his throat to remind Dean it was his turn to speak, Dean blushed deeply. "Your voice is quite something," he confessed. "I rather enjoy listening to it."

Richard chuckled. He wasn't surprised—people told him he had a nice voice often—but he did make an effort to speak deliberately slowly for this man. "I wonder how yours will sound when we do the hayloft scene." There may or may not have been playful innuendo there. Richard didn't mind. Part of the fun of paying Joseph was his bon-vivant nature. "But my favorite scene will be when they first meet, I believe. In the classroom. I do look forward to that."

"Me too, Richard," Dean admitted. "I look forward to it all."

And he did. Dean's body was humming with a strange energy he hadn't felt since university, when he'd drunk far too many energy drinks to study for his finals. He felt alive, edgy...invincible.

By the end of the day, he'd mostly forgotten about Rob's threats.


	4. We Don't Do Casual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... and then they had sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, they're having sex already? It's only chapter four! Wait, is this a sex story?

Aidan sat waiting with a bouncy energy when Dean got back. He was perched on one of the arms of the old chair, which groaned and complained under the poorly distributed weight, as soon as he heard the key turn in the lock. His own day had gone swimmingly, but not in the least because Aidan had been looking forward to tonight so much. Adam would come over later, he knew, and that would give them a sort of chaperone and little opportunity to do whatever it was they wanted—but they still had a dinner going first.

Admittedly, it was getting a little late. Dean was supposed to have come home at around six, and it was now closer to eight. If they wanted to combine a dinner with going out with Adam, they needed to be fast about it. Aidan didn't care. He'd have all of the night that followed. "Hi," he smiled, one foot pulled up to the other knee and leaning his chin on the bent leg. "I've been thinking about you today."

Dean dropped his satchel onto the coffee table and hurled himself into Aidan's arms, kissing him. "Hey." He pulled back only a little and smiled. Dean looked tired. "It's been a long day. I'm so happy to see you, Aidan." He hugged him tightly.

Aidan laughed in surprise. He tipped his weight back, dragging Dean along as he fell into the seat. "As am I." He rose to drag Dean into a kiss that he'd been craving all day, and did not let go for several minutes until their position was getting uncomfortable, what with the seat digging into his back. Aidan was out of breath when he looked at him. "Today was great. How was yours?"

"If it's any indication of what's to come...it was very informative," Dean told him, pulling Aidan to his feet and leading him to the couch. "Adam is thrilled to be there. Our director's very insightful. Richard continues to be super nice and nurturing. My understudy...." here Dean paused. "Well, he'll be challenging, but nothing I can't handle. I'd rather hear about your day," he told Aidan, shifting the focus of the conversation.

"Didn't get much done, really." It was impossible to ruin Aidan's good mood. He really had been looking forward to this moment and now that he had Dean where he wanted him, showing no regrets, he didn't mind the rest of the day. "Watched the lead and how he acts. Basically I have to act like he does, and that's more of a challenge than acting like the role itself. Made some friends though, and the lead is a nice guy. We actually get along." Aidan waved his script about. "I should memorize some lines tonight."

He kissed Dean once again, then practically purred, "You hungry?"

Dean hadn't realized until that very moment that he was ravenous. They had taken a brief break at lunch, but Dean had ended up talking with Peter Jackson and didn't have the heart to dismiss the man. He'd managed a soda and a bag of chips before he was called back to the stage, but they had hardly done the trick.

"I'm famished," he told Aidan, nibbling playfully on his collarbone. "You know, I've always felt, as an understudy, that you should at least be able to bring a bit of yourself to what you do. I think there's very little chance that Rob is going to want to emulate me."

"Well sure, I've got a vision about the role. But hey, I'll make sure I get a chance, if only once, to get on that stage. Can't imagine why he'd be so stubborn as not to learn from his better though."

Aidan wished Dean would have understood the innuendo, but then he remembered they were supposed to go on a date tonight. "A decent restaurant tonight; how about that? I'm getting a bigger-than-normal paycheck at the end of the month, so I'll pay you back."

"We can go out," Dean bargained, "as long as it's quick and close. I want to get you back home and kiss you all over. Then, I have _got_ to sleep. Deal?"

"If you say it like that, I'm suddenly more interested in staying home." Aidan pushed his hips up. "We promised we'd go out with Ads too, remember?"

Dean nodded. "I remember." Then he began kissing Aidan and forgot. That is, until the doorbell rang after nearly 30 minutes had passed.

"Oh, _blast_ ," he muttered, looking down at his watch.

Aidan stared at the door. That was...incredibly fast. "What time did you tell him to get here?" There would have been no time for their date even if they had gone on one. He wiggled out from under Dean, straightened his clothes and tidied his hair quickly, and opened the door.

"Hi," Aidan grinned breathlessly. "Give me some time to get ready. I lost track of time, sorry."

" _We_ lost track of time," Dean explained raising an eyebrow suggestively in Adam's direction as he tucked in his shirt.

Adam nodded. "I get it. I personally wouldn't be able to keep my hands off either of you, given free reign. Would you like to do this another time?"

Biting his lip, Aidan looked over at Dean. _Yes_ , his mind screamed. He felt bad cancelling though. “Let’s just get some dinner, okay? Dean’s had a long day, and he’s tired.”

"Guys," Dean's dimples made an appearance, "it's a celebration. Me and Adam got plum roles. Aidan, you're gainfully employed. Life is good," he said, and he meant it. "Let's eat. Honestly, I could eat a damn horse."

Dean chose the spot—an intimate Italian trattoria a few blocks away that they'd only been to once. They hadn't returned because it was a bit on the expensive side. But Dean didn't hesitate to pay for their meals and wine. He didn't know what he would do without Adam and Aidan, and he wanted to make sure they knew how important they were to him.

Walking home, they experienced a chilly breeze, the first real sign that autumn might have actually arrived. The chill reminded Dean of pumpkins and caramel and Richard's cold hand, and he chuckled. It was funny where a mind would go, especially once the body beneath it was overloaded with carbs.

He reached for Aidan's hand and interlaced their fingers.

“I'm telling you,” Aidan spoke animatedly to Adam, lost in a conversation that had taken a turn and had them discussing what they would do if they suddenly had money. "Rio. At once."

"Rio is so typical," Adam's voice was matter-of-fact. "Why not Australia? Or New Zealand?"

"Because. _Rio_ , Ads. How can you not love Rio? The sun, the ocean, the nights!"

"The STDs, the getting mugged while waiting for a traffic light, the sun."

"Australia has sun."

"And yet they don't all walk around like Malibu Barbie and freaking Ken."

"But that's the attraction!"

Aidan pleasantly leaned against Dean's side all the way to the apartment. He was mindful of Adam's presence until they parted ways, but when he turned the corner and both Aidan and Dean stumbled into the living room, Aidan had enough of that. He backed him up until they pushed into Dean's room, then divested Dean of his shirt.

Dean lay down on his side on the bed, head propped up by an elbow.

"I'd like you to sleep here with me tonight," Dean told him. "After I give you a blowjob, that is." He reached out.

Aidan climbed atop him with a curious smile. "You insist on taking this slow, don’t you? I would let you have all of me tonight, or take all of you if you want me to. I want to."

Dean blinked slowly. "I just...I just don't want you to get tired of me, Aid."

Aidan frowned. He pulled himself up to look at Dean. "That makes no sense. Why would I get tired of you?" He hadn't pegged Dean for that insecure a man—unless it was something else.

"Well, people do though, don't they?" Dean bit his lip and looked away. "You give your heart and your body away to them, and they decide—all too quickly—that isn't enough. That _you're_ not enough." He sighed sadly, clearly alluding to something that had happened to him in the past.

"But I know that's not you, Aidan," Dean turned to him. "I know you. You are worth having; worth keeping. And worth going slowly."

For a long moment the other man looked down at him. He shook his head. "I'm not sure why I should be telling you this, but I should. You're my flat mate and one of the best friends I have," his best friend, really, "and if this was some whim, some spur of the moment thing, then I'd be a right ass, because I'm risking losing all that by telling you I want you. We don't do casual, Dean, not between _us_." A slow smile appeared. "So last offer, I'm giving you a ticket to have me any which way you want, but if it's your choice, then a blowjob would be really nice too."

Dean chuckled, the tension broken. "I want you, Aidan. Want all of you. There's nothing I don't want to try."

He rolled over and grabbed his alarm clock, setting it for an 8 a.m. wakeup call. "There now...nothing to slow us down," he said, sliding a hand up beneath Aidan's shirt, cupping his waist and pulling him towards him. 

Aidan grinned broadly. He had no qualms resting his hands above his head on the pillow and parting his legs to bend them around Dean's hips. "Good." He needed to get up at seven thirty, but he didn't want to interrupt them now and reminded himself to change it later. Instead Aidan looked him over ravenously. He was getting hard just having Dean above him, and made it clear from the get-go that he didn't need his hands to have Dean in an equal disposition. His hips rolled up with tortuous slowness, one foot rubbing eagerly along Dean's calf. Everything screamed _take me_.

Dean was at war with himself. The mistakes of his youth mocked him. His eagerness, his stupidity, his loss.

And yet, a warm, receptive—and decidedly beautiful—man wanted him. Wanted _all_ of him. And he wasn't shy about it. Dean was sated on quality food, filled with love, happy in his career and was in bed with his best friend. Nothing was stopping him. Everything was right with the world.

He deserved this. Deserved Aidan.

"You are wearing entirely too many clothes," he said finally, reaching for Aidan's zipper and sliding it down.

"I thought you'd never ask," Aidan sighed in slightly dramatized relief. He was all smiles though, and quickly helped in pushing the denim past his hips to his knees where Dean could take over. For Dean's sake Aidan was still in his underwear—not that it hid his desire all that much. While his hands were in the area, he moved to impatiently undo Dean's buttons, then pulled off his own shirt with too much enthusiasm. Hopefully Dean hadn't heard the rip.

As soon as they were both down to their boxers, Aidan kissed him hard. He squirmed like a harlot, because it gave him glorious friction. "Got lube somewhere?" was whispered in the breathy wake of a kiss. "Condoms?"

Dean did, in his nightstand drawer, so he nodded, fingers teasingly slipping under the waistband of Aidan's blindingly white boxers. The color highlighted his dark skin even further, giving it a delicious glow. Dean needed to taste.

Blindly, he reached next to him and pulled out the small plastic container and a cobalt blue box of rubbers. "They might be dusty, but they're serviceable," he jested, delving his hand down to grasp Aidan's dick and exposing it to the light.

"Mmm," he smiled, bending down to wrap his lips around it.

Aidan's eyes, trained on Dean, promptly rolled back and shut, as all tension drained from his body and he lay back on equally white sheets. Aidan used to joke they were pristine as hotel sheets, but he liked them now. "Oh, that's good," he whispered. One hand moved to draw idle shapes on Dean's shoulder, drawing through his thick hair and twirling at the nape of his neck. He had to restrain himself from pulling the head down for his own satisfaction.

Very soon his hands became more insistent, until suddenly he pulled Dean off of him quickly. Aidan breathed harshly, his pupils dilated as he stared at Dean, who looked so deliciously lost that Aidan groaned. "Don't touch me for a minute, or I swear I'll come. Lube. Now."

Yes, Dean agreed. It was time. He had never thought he'd be in an I'm-about-to-have-sex-with-Aidan position, so he had never considered the logistics. Nor did he sweat them now. Aidan would get what he wanted. 

A hand stilling Aidan's hip, Dean reached for the lube and squeezed some out onto the first two fingers of his right hand. Nibbling down the inside of Aidan's thigh, he slid one slippery finger along the cleft until he found the furled circle of muscle. "Here we go then," he raised his eyes to Aidan's dark ones. "Here we go."

Despite the tautness of his body and the desperation behind having to delay his orgasm, Aidan couldn't suppress a laugh. Dean reminded him of psyching himself up before an important audition. "Get in me," he tried to break Dean's obvious nerves for what should be nothing but pleasure.

Aidan sighed in bliss when he got what he wanted. Dean had strong hands, and he liked that. A lot. He only wanted them inside for as long as it took him to stretch though. There was something even better waiting for him. He whimpered when his own reach didn't extend as far as Aidan wanted. "Come here," he pleaded, "let me touch you too."

But Dean rather liked the view from where he was. "You'll have your chance, Turner," he whispered, watching raptly as his digit, quickly joined by a second, disappeared inside the dusky orifice. How easily Aidan accepted him—and how easily he accepted more, as Dean added a third, thicker finger and sought out his prostate.

The last stretch was accompanied by a wince, yet Aidan practically mewled as soon as Dean hit the spot and continued to lightly stroke it. He had no reservations—his toes curled and his back arched off the bed, his legs spread wide and facilitating an even better view. Aidan's muscles contracted around the digits wonderfully. He licked his lips. They tasted salty, he noticed absently, and only then realized the sheen that coated his entire body.

With no regard for decency, Aidan's hands hooked under his knees and pulled his legs further up against his body. "Fuck me, O'Gorman. I want your cock."

Dean had been hoping for romance—to take it slow, languorously. Despite that, his hips gave an unconscious leap at Aidan's raw and dirty request. 

"I've wanted to do this for years, Aidan," Dean confessed as he rolled on a condom and coated it with slick. "Be in you, or you in me. _Both,_ " he smiled, leaning over Aidan, steadying himself with one arm as he aligned himself with Aidan's exposed opening.

Slowly, he inched inside, all the while watching Aidan's face as it rolled through a kaleidoscope of emotions. Seated, he clung to his best friend. "Mmmhm," he nuzzled Aidan's neck, "you let me know when it's okay to move."

And Aidan had thought it would be okay. He hadn't had anyone above him like this in a little over four months now, and before that they had been short encounters—he thought that that shouldn't matter. There was a minor burn though, one that thankfully ebbed away with a few moments of not moving. During those moments Aidan distracted himself with reaching up and mapping Dean with his fingertips. He smiled when his explorations of Dean's lips earned his fingers a kiss.

"You're unreal," he admitted in that lost moment. "I've always wanted you." He didn't know why he had always assumed Dean to be unavailable, when in hindsight it had been him with the frequently changing bed partners. Well, up until a few months ago. Aidan reached up for a kiss. "Wreck me," he permitted lovingly.

"Yes, my love," Dean acquiesced, ever-so-gently rolling his hips and increasing the depth and power of penetration until he was doing what Aidan requested him—fucking him quite vigorously. All the while, he watched Aidan for signs of distress.

He found none, so he reached between their sweaty stomachs to grasp Aidan's erection. "I hadn't realized you were so naughty," he whispered in Aidan's ear, pegging his prostate several times in a row.

There was no way to respond other than a jumble of hisses and pants. Fingers anchored into shoulder blades, and once or twice Aidan tried to meet with his thrusts. He was torn between which sensation he longed for more—the delicious simulation of that weak spot, or the wet hand that riled him up as it pumped his already sensitive cock to further ecstasy. Aidan licked his drying lips. Dean was big and hard inside him, driving him into a trembling mess.

If he meant to reply, then the moment was lost in a crescendo of moans and slapping skin. The bed was thudding against the wall in that way that would have the neighbors ringing their bell to complain later and use the fact that they had a teenage son for what they thought was a compelling reason for either Aidan or Dean to show remorse.

It wouldn't bloody likely come from Aidan, who did his best to bang the bed extra hard. One arm pushed his body away from the board before he hit his head. "Oh, _God_!" he exclaimed. He spasmed around Dean, slammed the board, and a warm and sticky mess shot between their bodies.

Dean managed but two or three more half-thrusts before he too came inside the tight vise Aidan had created. White stars danced across his vision and he braced his hands on either side of Aidan's head, lest he fall off the bed.

"Holy shit," he breathed softly, allowing his weight to lower onto Aidan's heaving chest. "I didn't know what to expect, Aid, but that was...." he snuggled down, cuddling him, still inside his lover's body.

Aidan kissed him on his hair with all the energy of a man spent. He closed his eyes and focused on their still-connection. It made his heart swell with how right it felt. He mused, "Now aren't you glad you didn't stick with the blowjob?" and sighed in bliss. "I'm glad we did that. Not because of the blowjob actually." His eyes opened and looked for Dean's. "You feel good, in here," and he stroked fingers over Dean's chest, tapping at where his heart beat. "Can we just...skip attempts at dating and say we're seeing each other all right?"

"I dunno," Dean cocked his head to the side. "I still think I want to woo you, Aidan. I guess I'm a bit of a romantic."

"You're old-fashioned, that's what you are." Aidan kissed him affectionately. "You've got me, either way. But, I suppose going out for dinner and catching a movie together doesn't sound bad, especially not if we end up in bed at the end of the day as a bonus." He clenched his muscles around Dean with intent. "I really like you, you know. Call me hopeless, but I'd like to be able to call you boyfriend."

"Me too," Dean agreed. " _That_ I want more than anything. More than roles, more than manicotti," he patted Aidan's stomach. "I wanted you, Aidan." He gave Aidan a soft kiss on his forehead. Carefully he slipped out of Aidan and into their bathroom, where he discarded the condom. He returned with a warm, wet washcloth and towel for his friend.

"I'm furry," he announced, as if it were news, wiping down Aidan's sticky stomach. "Do you think I should get my chest waxed? Is the theater-going public ready for a fuzzy naked Kiwi?"

Aidan rolled easily onto his front and reached for the alarm clock, pushing it back to half past seven and baring all of his naked back to Dean. "I am, but I'm ready for you in general. Besides," and he looked over his shoulder, "I prefer you as you are. It's sexy." Casually shrugging, Aidan got to his knees and balanced awkwardly off the bed. "Right back."

He padded to the bathroom to clean himself a bit more thoroughly. Looking in the mirror, Aidan splashed some water into his cheeks. He rubbed the coolness into the skin, and grinned suddenly, stupidly, at the mirror. He had just had sex with Dean. Dean, unattainable Dean, who might or might not be his boyfriend. Aidan didn't know what he had done, but he felt pretty damn good.

So with a lack of care about protocols, Aidan slunk back into Dean's bed on his return. He propped his head on his elbow and just watched as Dean walked around the room, looking for whatever it was he was looking for. Probably his cell phone. There was a script waiting for him to study, but Aidan felt his eyes fall shut and his breathing even out. He remembered little else.


	5. As We Were, So Will We Ever Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's scene with Richard gets a bit too realistic. Richard has a scare during rehearsal.

The next morning, Aidan awoke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Dean humming to himself in the shower. When he looked to his left, he found a mug of nearly-hot coffee and a plate with a bagel and a dollop of strawberry cream cheese on the side. A note next to the plate said _Good morning, sleepyhead. XOXO_.

The clock read 7:15.

Though the breakfast looked appealing enough, it was the sound of water running that got Aidan—always terrible at getting up—out of bed and padding to the bathroom. He didn't knock and didn't make a sound, just undressed and slipped behind the cheap shower curtain to press a kiss against the back of Dean's neck.

Dean chuckled and leaned back into Aidan's touch. "Morning," he turned his head and whispered into Aidan's ear, squeezing Aidan's thigh. Dean's body was warm from the shower and his hair curly from washing. "Ready to face the day, love?"

"Comfortably sore," Aidan hummed against Dean's neck. "I'm going to be remembering last night all day." He had not studied one bit, which meant browsing through the scenes at top speed on the tube and hoping something would get stuck in his head somewhere. Aidan didn't mind. They were doing an easy scene today, or at least an easy one to remember. "We practice the descent into darkness today. It'll be fun. I hope I get some stage time, because I know exactly how I want to play it." He took the soap from Dean. "I can try to be home earlier, maybe, if you will be."

"I'll be doing a lot of reading with Richard today, I think. Maybe some blocking. I don't know how long I'll be. Better hurry," he gave Aidan's ass a playful tap as he stepped out of the shower. "There's not much hot water left, I'm afraid." 

Aidan took care to bite Dean's shoulder. He wriggled under the water and turned off the faucet. Well acquainted with not having much hot water left after Dean, he made sure every inch of his skin and his hair was rubbed in with soap before turning the water back on. The bite of water slightly too hot made him wince, but he was clean in record time.

The breakfast from the bedroom tasted better than his regular breakfast—instant noodles—but for once Dean's complaints and Aidan's automatic retort to make him breakfast himself instead then had actually been honored. He couldn't keep his eyes off Dean. The evening couldn't come fast enough for Aidan, who tipped his head sideways and mentioned, "Well, tell Armitage I have need of you tonight. I'm sure he'll understand how valuable a healthy sex life is."

"I'm sure Richard can have a different, very willing, partner whenever he crooks his perfectly-manicured finger," Dean smiled as he pulled on his socks. "I, on the other hand, am very content with one who's semi-willing and feisty."

"Semi-willing?" Aidan scoffed over his coffee. He scowled. "Is it really that manicured? I mean, that's good, but I always thought he was the classy-with-an-edge kind of guy."

Dean chuckled. "He has an edge, don't get me wrong." He opened his closet and pulled out a pale yellow oxford, "but it's more in his personality than his appearance. He's very handsome, very put together—but he has a way of unnerving you. His voice is...well, it's hypnotic really," he pulled on the shirt, mechanically, but it was obvious his thoughts were focused elsewhere. 

"Well, as long as you don't get hypnotized and make sure you can play the part." Aidan leaned forward and kissed Dean on the lips. He rolled back and got up off the bed. "Got to run now. I'll see you tonight. Make sure you're not too tired." A knowing smile as Aidan wrapped his leather jacket around his shoulders and rolled the script up to fit in his bag. He was gone before Dean could say much more, really.

Dean stood, shirt half unbuttoned and fingers held to his smiling lips. How had he gotten so lucky?

At any moment, he expected someone to jump out of the shadows and tell him he was being pranked — that he hadn't won the love of the most wonderful man on the planet, and that he wasn't co-starring in a show the Richard Armitage. Until then, he was going to bask in the glow of his success.

\- - - - - 

Dean floated to work on a cloud, script open on his lap, but its contents unseen. He could still feel Aidan's soft curls between his fingers, and was dreaming of dark eyes when he bumped into Rob Kazinsky just inside the door of the theater.

"Sorry," he murmured, coming back to himself. "Sorry, Rob. I was daydreaming."

"Daydream all you want. Preferably on stage," Rob commented with a look of disdain. Nobody was there to notice their exchange, and Adam was sequestered away in a different part of the theater to practice some lines, which was why Rob didn't bother hiding anything. A cig between thumb and index finger, he quirked a brow. "I've practiced the scene where Joseph and John meet with Mr. Armitage while you were out, just so you know."

"That's great, Rob," Dean nodded. "Then he won't be reading cold. I appreciate you getting him warmed up for me." Without another word, he turned and entered the auditorium.

"Good morning," he nodded to Lee Pace as he passed him by.

"Good...morning?" Lee turned confused, to the actor who so casually addressed him. Quickly recovering, he added, "Oh! It's you. Richard said he was looking for you, to send you there when you arrived. He's on the main stage." He glanced at Rob, and inexplicably his entire demeanor turned from merely haughty to seriously threatening—but as soon as it came, as unexpectedly did it leave. Lee turned his back on Rob like he was a leech and Lee's boots were too good for him. "You are prompt, I must say. I do mean to say that by prompt, you're half an hour later than expected."

Dean reached into his satchel and pulled out his schedule. "My schedule asked that I be here at ten, Mr. Pace," he remembered that Lee had requested the proper name. "It's only 9:45. Unless there's a hidden schedule I don't know about. In that case, I'd like to be told."

Dean wondered why Richard's agent kept hanging around the set, now that Richard had the role. It wasn't like Martin followed Adam and Dean to their jobs. It was downright creepy.

Lee raised his chin. "Consider this you being told. Come along. Can't let you get sidetracked on your way to Richard, can we?" He didn't bother with explaining himself, though the confusion was plainly set on Dean's face. Instead Lee deposited him at the main stage with the air of a man who knew he had the right. "Richard," he asked for the actor's attention when Richard was preoccupied discussing something with Rob—how had he gotten here so fast?—and scraped his throat.

Richard turned. He looked elated when he caught sight of Dean. "There you are." Rob was forgotten as soon as that and he stepped forward to offer Dean a hand up the stage. Somehow the heat of the stage lights had little effect on him. A look was shared with Lee, who left as if asked, and only paused when he noticed that Rob wasn't coming. "Kazinsky. Come."

"It would seem I owe you an apology," Dean looked Richard in the eye. "I believe there was a typo on my schedule. I was instructed to be here at ten, but apparently I was needed earlier. I'm sorry. Do you think we could go over it? Make sure I've got the right times? I don't take kindly to getting in trouble with your agent again."

A warm laugh echoed on the empty stage. "Oh, Lee just tests you. That's what he always does, especially with my costars." Quieter, he added, "He's doing the same to your understudy, but definitely worse to him. Do not talk bad about him; he's invaluable for me to have around during rehearsals. He actually keeps a lot of noise away from me."

Lee had only said it because Rob had beat Dean to arriving early that morning and Lee hadn't been able to keep the man distracted for long enough. They both shared an odd dislike for the man, but it would be less than proper to voice it when there was nothing to pinpoint it to.

Richard easily slid into Joseph's role from there. He put the script down, having memorized all the parts they were to practice today. Halfway through the meeting scene, Richard mentioned, as if the thought had just occurred to him, "You should come over to practice some time."

"Over?" Dean jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "You mean...to your home?" he seemed terribly surprised, and immediately hoped Richard wouldn't want him to return the favor, inviting him over to the cozy—but sparsely furnished—flat he shared with Aidan.

He was flushed from the reading and the physical proximity of Richard. "Surely you'll get your fill of me here at the theater, Richard."

"There are scenes I am sure we could get used to better in the privacy of a home," Richard reasoned, "until such time that we feel comfortable performing them here, where others will watch."

Dean swallowed audibly. "I'm surprised....you know, that you'd be uncomfortable performing anything, anywhere." He waved his hand absently, nervously. "When did you have in mind, Richard?"

Richard stepped to the other side of the stage, preparing to crawl back into Joseph's skin. "Would you be comfortable standing here naked when you have no idea what you'll do next and people are watching you while you figure it out?" He inclined his head. "Tomorrow is Saturday."

"Just standing here with you right now, I feel naked," Dean admitted, flushing. "My faults exposed for everyone—especially _you_ —to see."

"You're an actor though. So am I. I merely thought it would make the first step easier. Is it agreed then, to practice tomorrow at my place? I could ask Lee to be there, if you like professional feedback."

"I..." Dean did not like the idea of being naked near Lee Pace—especially in a private setting. But he figured eventually Lee would get bored of watching them block the scene and would simply go amuse himself. "Tomorrow, you say? I suppose I could come over for a few hours. When did you have in mind?"

"Do you have plans in the evening?" Richard asked him. He straightened, looked around for where to start. If Rob walked back into the main theater and took a seat, he pretended not to notice.

"I do," Dean told him. "I have my..." he smiled, thinking of Aidan and how it felt to wake up next to him that morning. "I'll be with my boyfriend," he tested the word on his tongue. "Don't you...have someone special?"

Richard smiled. "Your flat mate, if I may be so impolite to ask?" He noticed more people filling into the room, but very few remained. The director did, though. Assuming that he knew the actors still needed to explore their roles, Richard paid none of them a mind. "That's fine, we can practice in the afternoon if you like. And since you asked, it's...complicated," he said diplomatically. "Not serious the way you consider serious."

Dean cocked his head to the side. "Yes, my flat mate. Aidan. And what do you know of what I might consider serious?"

"Oh, I meant no insult. It is simply that we're...unconventional. If I called him my partner, he would most likely be offended." There was mystery in Richard's smile. "I wouldn't call it seeing him. In fact, it's all rather open. Who knows, I might tell you one day. Now, we should try a scene, before I educate our audience in things I would keep to myself. Bring him here sometime though, your Aidan."

Dean nodded. "I'd like you two to meet, of course," he told him, now even more curious about Richard's lifestyle. Was he with that odious Lee? The thought made Dean frown. He decided to deflect his concerns by launching into a scene. 

He glanced down at his script momentarily and decided to begin with the scene from before the pair went off to war, and had met to talk in the barn on Joseph's farm.

"Do you have any idea what this is going to do to me, Joe?" he asked. "Why did you have to go and get drafted?"

Richard was gone immediately, replaced by a man who only wore his skin. He took a step forward, pushed a fist against his own chest. "It is not of my design, you must believe me! I did not expect to meet you, and even had I, it was never my intention to go off to war. I cannot ask you to wait for me, but would you consider it? Go into the country, far from places to strike. I would do my best to make it to you as soon as I can."

Dean shook his head. "No, Joseph. That I cannot do. Run away? Be a coward while you risk life and limb? I could never live with myself," Dean reached for the fist, felt its cold hardness uncurl between his two hands. When it did, he held it to his own heart. "I could never live without _you._ "

Dean's voice held a warning note

The cold spread against his chest. There were times when Richard was perfectly normal. Others, he seemed to be made of malleable, soft alabaster. Perhaps, Richard thought, the deflection in Dean's voice was for knowing what came next. Richard could not skip past it—they would have to, eventually.

He moved into Dean's personal space. "John. Dearest, dearest John, don't you see that it is why I need you safe?" Richard, Joseph in the flesh, leaned down and tipped the other man's chin up. For a moment blue eyes distracted him. He shook it off, closed his eyes, and pushed lips to lips.

Had this been real life—not acting—Dean would have backed away. But he wasn't Dean. He was John. And John was head over heels in forbidden love with Joseph. A part of him was secretly terrified and painfully turned on to be kissing ( _kissing!_ ) his idol. His heart sped up and Dean went in for the kill.

When he pulled away, lips swollen from the kiss, he dropped the bomb. "I enlisted, Joseph," he said, caressing Richard's cheek with his thumb. "Someone has to keep an eye on you."

Although they hadn't practiced a kiss before—or discussed it, for that matter—Richard never broke character. "No!" he exclaimed, backing away. "You did not. You cannot." Without words, his expression conveyed how broken Joseph would be, were he to see John succumb in battle. Richard stumbled back. His hand moved to his mouth. "Revoke it. Pretend you've broken a leg. I don't care, John, whatever works will do it."

All the while, he couldn't help but remember soft lips and stubble. Richard had picked Dean for the chemistry that had been there on the day of the audition, yet he had not expected that it would affect him stronger now. That confusion was mixed into the performance of Joseph's revulsion. In the audience that had amassed, Lee quirked his lips.

It's done, Joseph," Dean said with finality, "and I'm not sorry. Don't hate me." He reached for Richard, closing a hand around a cold wrist. "I do this of my own free will. I cannot— _will not_ —let you go alone."

"Then tell me you're a medic, a technician. Not infantry. To think of you in the vanguard..." Richard, in shape of Joseph the well-established playboy, sank to his knees in front of Dean. "What have you done to me?" He leaned his forehead against Dean's abdomen. "If nothing else, become an officer with me. Let me protect you when I need to, or perish when you do."

"Protect _me?_ " Dean scoffed, kissing the top of Richard's head. "Who kept you from nearly losing your arm in that thresher last fall? Who taught you how to fight? You're a teacher, Joseph...not a soldier. I'll be right by your side, and I will always, _always_ , step between you and danger."

"And neither are you to be blemished by war." Richard took a deep breath. His fingers tightened against denim and he closed his eyes.

Several things happened at once. Dean's scent caused a reaction, his pupils to dilate and his grip to strengthen. Richard sighed wistfully. Oh, he could practically taste it.

Then Lee was before him, between him and Dean. "You need a break," he declared to the disappointment of the audience. "Out. Now."

Dean was barely aware of the applause of some of his cast mates coming from the wings and seats where they'd been observing the pair. 

"Richard?" he called after the retreating man. "Is he all right? What's going on, Lee?"

"He just needs a breather," Lee called back. "It is still Mr. Armitage, boy." There was no jab or mockery behind the words. Lee looked alarmed if anything. They were out of sight before Dean could follow.

Adam had run up to the front of the stage. "Dean! That was incredible! That kiss… you could have fooled us!"

But Dean was still watching the spot between the curtains where Lee and Richard had vanished. "S-something strange just happened," he whispered, "with Richard."

Adam turned to the same spot. "What happened? Lee interrupted you, didn't he? I mean, that's what I saw. Mr. Jackson said Lee has a clause that he may interrupt at any time when it comes to Richard, and he's not to be questioned. I also heard him say that he thinks it's something to do with Richard's health. He never struck me as ill though."

"I don't know," Dean look troubled. "Maybe he's diabetic or something? His eyes—they got a little weird for a bit, like he was dizzy. That's probably it. I hope it's not too serious. The scene, it was going really well. I mean, wasn't it? It felt good." Then, he blushed. "We kissed," he remembered with a smile. "There's something to cross of my bucket list."

"Well, you were acting that you kissed him," Adam corrected for himself to make it safe in his head—and not something he was keeping from Aidan. Not something Dean was putting too much weight behind. "It looked good. Mr. Jackson was talking to his assistant. I overheard him say he liked it a lot. A few pointers that I'm sure he will talk to you about, but overall he was praising Richard for his insistence to get you on board." He kept his eyes on the exit. "I never heard of him being diabetic, or ill. Maybe he just hasn't slept well lately?"

"Heh, who _has?_ " Dean patted him gently on the shoulder with a smile.

All Dean's scenes were dependent on Richard's presence, so he went to check in with the director.

\- - - - - 

Richard's dressing room was very well appointed, and Lee insisted his friend sit down on its leather couch immediately upon entering.

"What were you thinking?" Lee hissed, eyes flashing. "He nearly _saw!_ "

"I wasn't!" Richard instantly replied. He recognized the weakened ferocity of his predicament—the faintness that came with a hunger and the desperation to do something about it. "I am hungry, Lee. I need it."

Lee reached into his pocket and produced his key ring.

"Why did you let it go so long, Richard?" he asked, a tenderness in his voice that he didn't show to many. "You're going to have to make due with what we've got here in the refrigerator, I'm afraid." He knelt before the dormitory-sized icebox and slid the key into the lock.

Richard leaned against coarse brick. "I thought I could go longer. But he..." He sucked in a breath. "There is something about him. I cannot stay away from him. Help me, Lee, for I honestly don't think I can. I knew it the moment he came in for his audition."

"What exactly are you saying?" Lee reached into the refrigerator and withdrew a flexible plastic bag of dark liquid, which he took to the table and proceeded to empty into a wine glass. "He is nothing special, Richard."

Answering was less important than the tangy scent that drew Richard to it. His hands shook around the glass, and a trickle threatened to drop to his collar when his lips touched the rim to drink. For the world he looked like an addict, and it was an apt description for how he felt. He had lasted so long without it, this time.

He always came back to it in the end.

When Richard looked at the other man, his pupils were blown. His voice was like sandpaper against marble. "Maybe he isn't special. Does anyone need to be universally special for me to want him?"

"I'd like to think so," Lee smirked and raised one eyebrow. "You wanted me, after all. At least you used to."

Richard smiled. The liquid was returning strength to his veins. He raised himself to his full height and advanced on Lee. When he was close enough for a whisper to carry behind them, he stopped. "There is no past tense. As we were, so will we ever be. That I want him does not exclude some things from being. It was close today. I'm sorry, I'll be more careful next time."

Lee took possessive hold of Richard, arms wrapping around his waist. "It pains me, watching you with him. Do you know that? I suppose I can understand the appeal. He is attractive enough, aesthetically. But he's so...common."

"Exactly." Richard pushed him back against the wall. His senses were awakening again, every fiber under his fingertips, every mote of dust in the air. Yet he focused only on Lee. "I don't understand it. He's not refined. He walks among actors and he is not full of himself like so many others. There is nothing that should point him out as attractive. And yet, _yet_..." He took in a deep breath, drank the last drops from the glass and shared them in a feverish kiss. "Don't leave me alone with him. For his sake, and our safety."

Lee sucked the last of the liquid from Richard's tongue as they kissed. "Mmm," he smiled, caressing Richard's cheek. "Not bad, but far too cold. You and I," he smiled wolfishly, "we need to go hunting. _Soon_."

Richard was off him at once. "Carefully. Last time—"

Last time couldn't happen again. It was what had put Richard in his stupor for months. And look where that had brought them.

"The others are waiting. We should—"

"We should get you out of those clothes," Lee whispered, gauging Richard's response, as he gave Richard's crotch a less than gentle squeeze, "and you should fuck me, right there on that couch. That's what we should do."

"They are waiting," Richard warned him with his head canted. He was weak of flesh however—a push was all he needed to check the locks and do as asked. "They—"

Oh, it mattered not. Without effort Richard moved back to the door. His eyes were on Lee the entire time, until they were secure. It took the distance between them for Richard to divest of his clothing. Untroubled by nakedness as had become a trademark, he pulled Lee unceremoniously off the armrest onto the couch by his ankle and slunk on top of him.

There was no kindness between them. They bit at jaws and raked skin with cropped nails. Richard had Lee around him in a manner of seconds. He growled at the sensation of muscle adjusting around him.

Their coupling was just as rough—and neither of them would have wanted it any other way. They'd had years and years to explore one another's bodies and knew exactly how and where to touch to elicit the strongest response. 

"Is this how you'd do it with him?" Lee asked over his shoulder, grunting as Richard pounded into him. "Your new _interest?_ " Lee snarled with a flash of white teeth as his nails dug into Richard's thigh. 

When Richard laughed, it was like he had found mortal paradise. "He is with someone. Only for you do I have such lack of decency, and such ignorance of what is right and wrong." His skin was taut as he arched up. The couch beneath them creaked against the wooden floor. He left unsaid what was plain to see; not all relationships were written in the stars, and Richard had time on his side.

As roughly as he sought his pleasure—deeper, _deeper_ —when Richard came he was still as a leaf, and his fists clenching as pale as eternal stone.

\- - - - - 

Dean studied his script for some time. He was relieved when Richard finally appeared from the wings looking none the worse for wear. Not a hair was out of place when he sat down next to him.

"I was worried about you," Dean told him, blue eyes studying his face for any signs of illness. "Are you all right, then?"

Richard looked back in half-cloaked wonder. He had no idea, he thought to himself, what had happened backstage. None of them had. Though if Dean found out about this odd physical obsession with him, what would he say? Would he be abhorred? Or fascinated? Richard didn't know what would be worse. Now was not the time; if ever it would come.

He turned back to the stage. "Lee is here to take care of me. You might have heard of my insomnia. I can't sleep during the night, though for strange reasons I sometimes need to catch up during the day. It's perfect for when we have shows, but when we rehearse, during the day...That is why he's here."

Dean nodded, although he really didn't understand. "It scared me," he admitted, since it was just the two of them. "One second we're in it—I mean really _in_ it—then I was afraid you might pass out, or...well, you seem okay now, though." And Richard did. "Peter really liked what we did. I was so drawn in I didn't even realize we had an audience."

Richard patted Dean's knee. "I know. It's why I asked you to practice at my house. After what just happened, I asked Lee to be there, just in case. If it makes you feel more at ease, invite your partner too."  
Lee stopped in front of them. He and Richard shared a reaffirming glance. Everything was fine. Upon the man's departure, Richard breathed out. "I'm getting something to drink. Join me?"

Dean felt much more comfortable knowing Aidan was welcome at Richard's home. "I'd like that...both, I mean. I'm sure Aidan would enjoy meeting you, and I'd love to see your home," Dean added. "But a drink? Now? It's barely noon," he grinned. "You _must_ be having a rough day."

Richard watched him in wonder. "Orange juice is a drink too, isn't it? I must admit, I am beginning to get interested in meeting this man of yours. I have trouble picturing your type. Tell me about him?" He got up and offered a hand, before padding to the cafeteria.

Dean fell into step beside him. "Aidan and I have been friends since we met. Maybe...six years ago. He's taller than me, dark curly hair, dark eyes. But I never really considered that I had a _type._ I just fell for him because of who he was. He's a really good guy, works hard, fun to be around—and he puts up with me amazingly well. That alone makes him pretty special."

"Sounds like a nice guy, though I don't see why it would be hard to put up with you. What does he do?" Richard wondered. "Dark hair, dark eyes. Actor. He sort of sounds like Demetri. It's a pity we've already got someone for the part." He sat down at the bar and ordered a glass, and one of whatever Dean would have. "He doesn't mind that we're having a love scene on stage? That's rare. I've been with actors in the past, but they always minded."

"He's proud of me," Dean said, accepting his Diet Coke from the server, and with it came a warm realization. "Our relationship is still very new," he admitted. "I don't know how he really feels about it, to be honest. He wants me to succeed, of course. Just as I want that for him."

"Ah." Richard drank his orange juice like it was a Martini. He let his eyes go over the menu, contemplating a snack. He hadn't eaten that morning, nor the night before. Lee would have his head if he knew. "Then I have only one bit of advice: be open with him. Trust me, I have been through it several times, I know that even those that you don't expect it of will find trouble with it. I thought it went well, actually, the scene."

"I have to tell you, Richard, I'm astounded how effortless it's been...with you, I mean," Dean fiddled with his straw. "I was terrified coming to audition, and yet the second I lay eyes on you and we started reading everything just came so easily. It's a little scary. I'm not complaining, but I do find it _interesting._ "

"I told you, we have chemistry."

It was more than that. Richard knew that, without needing to put effort into it, people were drawn to him more easily than to others. It was a natural thing for him. What happened less frequently that it happened in reverse—that Richard was pulled in. "How do you think we could improve the scene?" he asked. "Does Joseph feel right, the way I play him?"

"You're perfect, Richard," Dean said the first thing that popped into his mind, and immediately regretted it. "You _are_ Joseph, is what I meant to say." His eyes skipped away guiltily. "The only thing that could improve is me allowing myself to not get so swept away by your performance."

"But you don't. That is something I like about you." 

Richard finished his drink at the moment Adam came walking in, clearly looking for where his friend had gone. Richard recognized him from earlier. He nodded at him.

Adam shuffled closer. "Uh. Hi, sorry. Mr. Jackson wanted to talk to you, Mr. Armitage."

Dean wanted to tell Richard that he _was_ having a great deal of trouble not getting caught up in being John, but then Adam showed up. "Guess we can't hide out forever," he instead grinned good naturedly. "I'll catch up with you later, Richard." He watched Richard depart. "You thirsty?" he asked Adam.

"Not very," but Adam ordered a water nonetheless. He watched Richard leave, then leaned in, "Understudy wanted to talk to him. That's where he's headed."

Three buzzes. Text message.

 _Hi. Just letting you know… definitely sore._ Aidan, and his equivalent of _I'm thinking of you._

Dean grinned and texted back. _Richard A. invited you and me to his house tomorrow night. Wants to go over scenes, probably have dinner. You in?_

On the other side of the city, Aidan sat curled in a corner sofa, the screen propped on his legs in front of him. He scowled at the mention of Richard He liked Richard well enough, but it was obvious that Dean was interested in his big example, though he wasn't sure to what extent. It was Dean though, and he had had him on his mind all day, so he typed back, the words reluctantly drawn from his fingers, _Sounds great. No plans. What time?_

Dean gave Adam an apologetic shrug for his rudeness. _Evening, after dark. You and I can spend the whole day together first,_ Dean replied. _Richard's partner will be there as well._ For Dean had finally gotten a clue about who Lee really was. _We want to run the risqué scenes by the two of you first._

 _You mean the sex scene?_ Aidan replied, chewing passive-aggressively on a lollipop. He declined when one of the other actors asked if he’d come along outside for a smoke.

 _Yeah,_ Dean chose his words carefully. _Richard wants you both to see what we plan to do, what we plan to say, so that you don't feel threatened. Are you still okay with going?_

 _Not threatened. Just not looking forward to seeing you with him. But glad you want me there. I'll come._ Aidan bit his nail. He picked his phone up again, adding with more mischief, _If I get to put a mark on you._

This elicited a bark of laughter from Dean and he clamped his hand over his mouth. Adam continued to look at him as if he'd gone mad. _Anywhere but my face, lover. Gotta get back to it. xoxo_ , he texted back, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

"Richard invited me and Aidan to his house tomorrow night. Lee will be there too," Dean explained to Adam. "He thinks that we should run the questionable scenes in front of our significant others before we show them to anyone else."

Adam floundered for at answer. When words continued not to come to him, he smiled with an increasing flush. "Right. That's... good. But isn't that super awkward? I mean, having Aidan there? Hold on, hold on. Lee and Richard?! But he's his agent!"

"I'm pretty sure Lee is more than Richard's agent," Dean bit his lower lip. "I’m also guessing that they just finished getting it on in Richard's dressing room. And, hell yes, it's awkward. But, I want to keep this part, and I want Aidan to be comfortable with me doing it. If this helps, then I just want to get it over with."

Dean was quiet for a moment as he drained the dregs of his soda. "It is weird though, right? Am I dragging Aidan to some kind of swinger's orgy?

Belatedly, Aidan piped in, _I've got just the spot figured out for that mark. Waiting for tonight. Gotta run now. A._

Adam, who couldn't read the message, became more and more ill at ease, the longer Dean talked. There was Richard, and his fairly hot agent Lee, who were allegedly schtupping during company hours. Then there were Dean and Aidan, welcomed into Richard's house to practice a love scene. Part of him ought to be cheering his mate on, but part was reminded just what had slipped out of his own hands not too long ago. "If Richard holds swinger parties, you'll bloody invite me… promise? Uh. Well, I'm sure it'll just be practicing the scene. Have you guys discussed how you're going to do it yet? Like, the mood and stuff?"

"I'd kind of hoped we'd get some sort of direction from Peter before just jumping into things head first like this," Dean smiled at Aidan's text, heartbeat quickening at the thought of a love bite, on his pulse point. On his inner thigh.

Adam's finger's snapping in front of his face got his attention. "It's probably pointless, anyway," Dean grinned at his friend. "No doubt Richard and Lee are carefully-disguised serial killers luring me and Aidan over to be raped and murdered—never to be heard from again."

"Oh, but you see, I know where you are. They wouldn't get away with it," smiled Adam. "At any rate, I'm sure Mr. Jackson gives Richard free reign, because that's not how he's been around the others. He keeps pressing Rob to take directions from you instead of him, but I haven't seen him around you all that much. It's like he doesn't care."

"Oh he cares," Dean informed him. "Rob cares plenty. He's just waiting for me to mess up—he's counting on it, in fact. I keep waiting for him to trip me on the stairs or poison my food," he chuckled. "He's disappointed. Who wouldn't be? And he's so much better looking than I am. I don't know what the casting folks were thinking, to be honest."

"It's not difficult to guess though, is it?" Next to him, Adam shrugged. "Richard rallied for you. The terms were that you would be his responsibility. That's what some of the cast have been whispering at least, and it sounds like it makes sense. After all, Mr. Jackson never asks you to do things this or that way, though he has plenty of things that he tells Lee, about Richard and about you. That makes you special. Casting wanted Rob, and he would have got it if Richard hadn't insisted. No wonder he wants you out. He probably thinks you're only there because of a favor, and he wouldn't be wrong. Not that you're not the best fit for the role. What I saw up there...you'll be amazing."

"Wow," Dean blew a frustrated breath out through his puffed cheeks. "That's a scary thought, innit? Being here because Richard wanted me? Scary, and... really cool," he smiled. "I wish I knew what I'd done to impress him. Not that I'm complaining. He's been so kind to me. I really feel like I could get somewhere, now that he's taken a shine to me. I hope I don't do anything to screw it up," he squeezed Adam's hand. "Well, I've got to get back to it, Ads. Hope the rest of your day goes well."

Dean patted his friend on the back as he left to return to the auditorium.


	6. No Tongues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graham comes to see Adam, but is confronted by Dean. Aidan and Dean go to Richard's house, where Aidan does not get along well with Lee. Aidan sets down rules by which Dean and Richard are allowed to kiss onstage.

They played out several scenes during the rest of the day. Around four in the afternoon, Peter joined them to see how things were going. He was accompanied by Lee on one side, Rob on another, and next to him sat a man whom Dean had only seen once before.

"My understudy, Luke," Richard had explained him. "I need to discuss some things with him later on."

When one by one people started to head home, eventually Adam appeared at the exit. He stood shifting nervously from one foot to the other, waiting for Dean.

"I should probably be going, too," Dean told Richard at length, raising a hand in greeting to Adam. "Today was...well, it was incredible. I felt good about our chemistry walking away from the audition, but I cannot believe how well we play off one another. It's very encouraging. What time would you like Aidan and me to come over tomorrow night? I'll need your address...and please tell me what we can bring. Wine? Dessert?"

"Dessert?" Richard asked him and waited for long enough to make him doubt his assumption that there would be food. "I see you give me no reason but to prepare you dinner," he mused. "Very well. Six? If you'll be at Kensington, I'll pick you up there."

"Oh..." Dean's face fell. "I must have misunderstood. I'm sorry. You needn't feed us, of course. We can grab something on the way over. That way we can simply get down to the business of rehearsing when we arrive. I didn't mean to suggest you go out of your way," Dean flushed pink as he hurriedly shoved his belongings into his satchel. "We can meet you outside the South Kensington tube station at six."

Richard smiled mirthfully.

Lee appeared behind Dean then. "He messes with you. Isn't that so, Richard?"

"Very much so, I'm afraid," Richard acquiesced. "Go. Your friend is waiting for you. I'll meet you there tomorrow. Do bring dessert though." He all but ushered Dean to Adam, deposited him there, and easy as that, both Richard and Lee had vanished from their sight.

"My life," Dean told Adam, with a shaky smile, "has turned into some bizarre mystery novel. He won't tell me where he lives, yet he'll come pick us up to take us there. I hope travelling won't involve having a burlap sack put over my head for secrecy."

Adam offered him as much sympathy as he could muster up. It wasn't very much, nerves fraying his responsiveness. When Dean moved to walk outside, he pulled him back. "Dean," he muttered, "it's Graham. He's outside."

Dean's voice held a warning note, "Adam... Adam, _don't._ I can't bear to see you tortured like this."

"I didn't call him!" Adam's voice rang with tension. "He must have found out where I work now, after I quit the bar, and he's been hanging out front for at least half an hour now. I don't want to talk to him!"

"Do you want me to deal with him?" Dean offered. "Tell him you've already gone home?"

Adam mutely nodded. "He's been trying to talk to me for a few days now. I can't... I can't put myself through that again. Not while he's married. I'm sorry to get you involved. I meant to deal with it myself, but apparently ignoring him didn't work."

Dean leaned over and gave Adam a kiss on the temple. "Go out the back exit, circle 'round to the Tube and go home. If you don't feel safe there, come over to me and Aidan's place, okay? I'll talk to Graham."

Adam looked a little nervous, but agreed.

Dean, in his absence, pulled in a deep breath and walked out into the late afternoon sunshine, where Graham McTavish waited by the metal newspaper vending boxes out front.

"Graham," he smiled. "What brings you here?"

"Dean!" Graham moved to amicably clap him on the shoulder. He was visibly relieved to see him. He must have been standing there for a while. "It's been a while. How've you been?" He kept stealing looks at the entrance over Dean's shoulder, though it had been a while, and Graham was glad to see his friend. "Heard you got the part. The _part_ part. That's great, man. Really."

"It _is_ ," Dean agreed. "I'm on cloud nine. Adam got a supporting role as well. But I'm guessing you already knew that."

"Ah," Graham scratched his chin, "yeah, about that. Is he inside? I've been meaning to talk to him."

He looked as ill at ease as he sounded. Harried, like he really needed to talk to Adam and he just couldn't get it to happen. Graham looked like he had ten different questions ready for Dean and all of them revolved around his ex.

"Since he's not a principle character, the director sent him home about an hour ago," Dean lied. "Graham, I'm sorry things didn't work out between you two, but what were you expecting? You're _married._ Adam deserves someone who's going to make him the focus of his life."

"But I can't—" A deep breath. Graham pushed the words out like they were stuck in his throat. "—I can't forget him. Do you know what it feels like, living the farce of a stable marriage only because there are children, while out there, there's him? Every time I lie down next to her, my mind's elsewhere. Maybe you know what time he'll be in tomorrow? Maybe you can put in a good word for me? I just need to see him, that's all."

"I care for you both, Graham," Dean told him. "That's why I tell you this—you have _got_ to let him go. For his sake, for yours—for your family. None of them deserve half of your love," Dean frowned. "It's just not fair."

"And they get my love, but it's not the same kind of love. And if I lie to her that I do love her like that, she wouldn't deserve it either. She deserves someone who loves her like I love him. Doesn't everyone?" Graham grasped for words. "I told her, Dean. I told her I wasn't in love with her like that anymore. I couldn't tell her about Adam, but I told her that I want to separate."

Dean sighed, biting his lip indecisively. "This is really complicated, Graham. Especially because of the kids. You should tell her the truth. I mean, are you gay? Are you straight? She's your wife. She deserves to know more than anyone...right?"

Graham ran a hand over his face. "I loved her. Now I love him. Does it have to be either women or men, Dean? I've done what I can to make sure they don't ask me these questions. The years in which I have been married to her weren't a lie. I just need to see him now. I'm doing this for him. You're close to him. He would like to hear me say this, won't he? Don't tell me he's moved on and found someone else."

"He hasn't moved on," Dean assured him. "He's crazy about you. And of course he'd want to hear this...but he's not a diversion, Graham. He wants to be your one and only. And if you can't give him that, then I cannot—I _will_ not—get in the middle here."

A frustrated sound tore from Graham's throat. He turned, looked out over the street with his back to Dean. "That's not a fair thing to ask a man in a failed marriage! I—Christ, I should get going. Tell him I came to talk with him, if you see him before I do. He's probably avoiding me, so there's a big chance that you will. Goodnight, Dean. Say hi to Aidan for me."

"I'm sorry, Graham," Dean said. And he was. "I know you two love one another. It seems to me you need to figure out what you truly want. You cannot have it all. You know that. Fix things on your end. Weigh the pros and cons. I'll tell Adam you were here, that you've been thinking of him, all right?" he put an experimental hand on Graham's shoulder. 

A hand clasped over Dean's, patted it once, and left. Graham nodded. "You're a good guy. Thanks." Putting his hands in his pockets, his shoulders sagged. He took off without a word more.

\- - - - -

Another cigarette. Aidan looked around the massive place—at least, massive enough to be too expensive for a stage actor. He was sure that even Richard didn't get paid that much, yet here they were, in a pristine white hall with a bloody spiraling staircase in black marble, looking like a veritable stairway to hell from the heavenly nexus.

Lee coughed, and he quickly butted out the cig. There was an ashtray, so he wasn't sure why he felt admonished. "He's just fixing some things upstairs," Lee said with poise. "He'll be here any minute."

It had been Lee who had come to pick them up, saying Richard had been occupied and couldn't make it in time. Introductions were awkward, but Aidan had tried. Now, he just wanted to get on with the show.

"Your home...it's beautiful, Lee," Dean told him squeezing Aidan's hand. "You and Richard, do you live here together?"

Lee snorted. "I'm never getting you to call him Mr. Armitage, am I? Stubborn man. No, we don't. This is Richard’s home. All this white pains my eyes, if you must know, and since when did you peg me for domestic? He asked me to make you some tea though, and he asked nicely, so I'm sure you're thirsty and wouldn't mind coming along to the study for a drink while we wait?"

"Domestic or not, everyone has to live somewhere," Dean chuckled, getting to his feet. "You two just seemed _close._ And he asked me to call him Richard."

"We are friends," Lee told Dean. "We have been for quite some time. I suppose one might consider us practically brotherly. But what of you two?" he took a step closer to Aidan. "Why is it that your handsome flat mate didn't audition for 'Friendly Fire'? He'd be perfect for the role of Demetri," Lee locked his eyes with Aidan's. "The man who forces his kisses upon John when John would much rather be kissing Joseph. Quite a handsome devil, aren't you?" 

Were this a bar or out on the street, where he expected pointless comments like that, Aidan would have had his answer ready. Right now, he felt almost offended for someone so high up the ladder—agent of a star—to talk to him like he was a piece of meat. "I have a role, and it tops Demetri's. I'm not here for you or Armitage, or for Demetri for that matter." He cast an annoyed look at Dean that said he was not at all comfortable with Lee, and what was up with this guy anyway?

"He is handsome, I'll grant you that." Dean slipped his hand into Aidan's as Lee served them each a delicate china cup of tea. The cups were far from manly and, by the looks of them, quite valuable and breakable. "Thank you, Lee," he said, accepting the beverage.

Lee could smell the sex the two of them had had that very afternoon. A shower, especially a quick one, never completely got rid of that particular smell. Like blood or fear, it was instantly recognizable. He pictured the pair before him tangled naked on a bed, kissing, humping—

His thoughts were interrupted when Richard entered the room.

Contrary to Lee's introduction, Richard did mind his manners. He walked up to Aidan and offered a hand. "Richard Armitage. You probably knew that, but pleased to meet you. Aidan, isn't it?" He was prim as always and had just taken a shower. Whereas Lee was trouble, Richard was soothing out any of his partner's kinks.

And Aidan did like it better. "Aidan Turner," he introduced himself by his full name. "It's nice of you to ask me over. Dean has told me a lot about you." He threw another dirty look at Lee. "So I've been told you wanted to practice specific scenes today."

"Because Dean is _involved_ with you," Lee stepped in, "and some of the scenes are a bit...well, salacious," he grinned crookedly around at the three of them, which caused Dean to blush uncomfortably, "we thought it might be a good idea to block those scenes here, in private. That way, Aidan, you could voice any concerns you have. You too of course, Dean."

"The scene in the haymow," Dean said softly, "the night before Joseph leaves for his training. That's probably the one we should work on first, don't you think?"

"Are you going to be here all the time?" Aidan asked of Lee. "Look, I know the story but not the script. Tell me how things happen, just the outline of things. Are you both going to be naked, or am I going to watch you block it in dressed?" He would really appreciate it if they could remain dressed and leave the nudity to the actual performances.

Dean would have been happier doing this alone with Richard. Having Aidan here was just...awkward, especially with Lee drooling all over Aidan like he wanted to jump his bones. "We're blocking," he told Aidan, "reading through the lines—you know, getting used to the proximity. Is that what you had in mind, Richard?"

Dean shrugged helplessly and looked to Lee and Richard for guidance. Lee chuckled.

"Actually, part of the reason I asked you over instead of doing this at the stage is because you’d get to be comfortable being naked around me." Richard felt ridiculous having to state his intentions like this. Clearly Dean and Aidan hadn't been together that long—he could practically feel the tension in Aidan's limbs from the uncertainty that came with new, untested relationships.

Aidan didn't want to let Dean know it. He wanted this to work, and being jealous about one's costar wasn't going to cut it in this line of field. "Maybe you could go over it with clothes on first and then decide?" he offered. At least the memory of the beautifully purpling mark on Dean's hip made him feel better.

Richard could tell that Dean's confidence level was not the same here at his home as it had been onstage at the theater. Whether it was the presence of Aidan, Lee, or both, he couldn't say.

"Yes," Dean pulled his script from his bag. Can we start like that?" Maybe then he could try to pretend he was alone with Richard.

"Come, Aidan," Lee jerked his head toward the red leather sofa near the fireplace. "Can I get you a beer instead? Something stronger?"

Aidan had little love for the cocky agent, but he could tell that Dean wasn't too at ease either. He felt both glad and bad for having maybe caused that—it meant that Dean wasn't all that eager to get undressed before Richard as Aidan had worried he was—and receded into the seat. "A beer is fine," he said to Lee, sinking back into the pillows.

Richard walked after him and handed him the script. "You want to read the scenes we're practicing first? I've marked them for you. I really appreciate you coming here, Aidan."

Dean took several generous swigs of the beer Lee brought him as he watched Aidan reading over the haymow scene. It was a racy one, no question about it. John, distraught about Joseph shipping out the next day, works furiously in the haymow, shoving hay down through a hole in the floor with a pitchfork. Joseph comes looking for him and they end up having sex in the barn after an emotional verbal exchange.

Dean saw Aidan's eyes widen in surprise as he got to certain parts of the script, and he took a long pull on the bottle and sat the script aside with shaky hands.

"All right, then?" Dean felt compelled to ask.

"...Yeah. Oddly enough, I think I am." Aidan smiled quietly. "We're both actors, aren't we? Sooner or later I'll be playing a scene like this too, and you will have to bear it. I'd really appreciate it if you could take the first practice with your clothes on though. But I'm ready if you are. Not that I need to do much of anything. Just, Richard—I can call you Richard, right?" Richard nodded. "Cool. No tongue. That's my rule."

Dean didn't bother telling Aidan that'd they'd already broken that rule the afternoon before onstage. Nor did Richard offer the information, but he did raise his eyebrows meaningfully in Dean's direction.

"No tongue," Dean confirmed. But now it was all he could think about. That, and how it felt to be kissing Richard, their tongues dancing together as the rest of crew, and the world, melted away. He cleared his throat and sat his script on the nearby coffee table where he could easily refer to it.

"I picture John working himself into a frenzy—he's half sad, half angry," Dean told Richard. He motioned as if he had a pitchfork in his hands and was feeding hay through a hole in the floor into the level below.

"I think Joseph is desperate when he comes in. He has run while he should have been getting ready for the army. There might be a trunk half packed in his place. He can't finish it, because he feels like he is packing away his last chance to see John at the same time." 

Richard glanced at Aidan. The man had no idea they had already broken his rule, yet he seemed to be getting more and more comfortable with the idea of the love scene. More surprisingly, Dean didn't step up to confess it, either.

Lee knew. He was eyeing Richard like he was conveying, 'well played'.

Aidan whispered to the man next to him when the conversation was turning to be only between Richard and Dean, "This is where I'm only around to accept or refuse the scenes they play, isn't it?"

Lee shrugged, but answered with a candid whisper. "You're here as a courtesy, to be honest. They're going to run the scene the way Peter wants, regardless. You might want to think of this as a test run. If Peter says he wants them to kiss with tongues, they are going to have to...you realize this, right?"

When Aidan sat back, more than a bit sullen, Lee continued. "They look surprisingly good together, wouldn't you say?" He watched with interest as Dean and Richard exchanged a few heated lines. "When I first saw your mate, I thought he seemed a bit bland...but now I'm starting to understand the appeal." 

Aidan's last speck of kindled warmth disappeared. "Joseph and John, yes. I can't wait to see them in costume." So they didn't look so bloody much like Richard and Dean. Aidan could think of a number of reasons why he didn't like them together. Long before Aidan and Dean had met, Dean had had a longstanding crush on Richard. "Look, I am not sure if you're trying to get under my skin, but you are, so shall we please not pretend that we like each other and stop trying to make nice talk?"

Richard chose the moment to push Dean up against a wall that served as an imaginary stack of hay bales. Aidan looked down at his hands.

"I realize I'm not very approachable," Lee told him quietly, taking Aidan's empty beer bottle away and sitting it on an end table. "Richard tells me I tend to blurt things out almost autistically, so I apologize if I say anything that offends. Richard has an eye for talent. That he's chosen Dean is high flattery." 

Dean, meanwhile, whispered something to Richard and cupped his face, eyes full of longing.

"Would you like another?" Lee asked. " _I'd_ like another."

"You almost sound like you're trying to make up for deliberately bothering me," Aidan said. He didn't want to have much to do with this man whose every sentence felt like an offense. "Dean is a good guy. He's an actor with great potential, which is why I'm here. He holds Richard in high esteem, and that's why I hold him in great esteem." He looked at Lee, not aware that he was going to lengths not to watch Dean while that great potential in making people see things that weren't there would undoubtedly rouse a stab of pain in his own partner's chest. "Yes, another."

They twined in a passionate kiss in the corner of his eye. It felt real, far too real. Actors, having rehearsed scenes together for a couple of days, shouldn't be able to make it feel this real.

It _was_ real. Richard breathed in all of Dean. He used roaming hands to cloak their mouths, but he had little control over how his body yearned incomprehensibly for this man. Oh, there, hidden from Aidan's sight, was tongue.

It wasn't scripted—at least not at this point in the scene—but Dean gave Richard a less than delicate shove away. Breathing heavily, he studied the man. Was he purposely trying to upset Aidan? Was this a crazy test of their boundaries?

"No, Joseph," he insisted, still in character. "Not here. Not like this. It's filthy. _We're_ filthy."

"Is it? We will be expected to give our lives for our country from tomorrow onward. There is nothing sacred in that. But you're here now. I don't care how you are, if you truly consider it filthy or if you're just saying it, though for what reason I would not know. I love you, John, and I am scared that tonight is the only chance I will have to show you how much."

Aidan looked on now. This wasn't what he had just read. They were improvising.

But why?

Dean couldn't possibly begin to explain the rush that came from this newly-found game of roleplaying with Richard. He liked it far more than Aidan would have wanted to know about. But they couldn't do it here. 

So he smiled, breaking character. "We should stick to the script," he told Richard. "I'll never memorize it if we keep going off on tangents." He reached for his beer and took a long swig.

Richard agreed good-naturedly. "Very well. John pushed Joseph away after the kiss. Pick up just before that?"

During the kiss, Aidan told himself that he was being ridiculous. Nobody liked jealous people, but he knew he had steadily been turning into one. Which was why he detached himself. In front of him was not Dean but John. Richard wasn't Richard, but Joseph. It was easier to watch them that way.

Joseph looked oddly off though. Physically tired. Or rather, physically struggling. "What's up with him?" Aidan asked Lee. "Is that some getting into character thing he does?"

"Richard has a tendency to be consumed by a role," Lee confided, handing Aidan a second beer and starting in on his own. "And while it certainly enhances his performance, it tends to tax him physically. He's really excited about this show. I can tell I'm going to have to keep an eye on him."

He leaned back, eyes only on Aidan. "So tell me, are you happy with the representation you're getting from your casting agent? Would you consider switching to someone more...aggressive?"

Aidan leaned back. If he squinted, Richard and Dean were just moving blurs. "I'm an understudy," he admitted in favor of Lee's attempt at kindness. "It's a role I really want, and if I'd get to play it on stage I know I'll kill it, but there is a chance I might not get on that stage for more than a rehearsal. It pays bills though. Dean, he's a good guy, but I don't want him to keep having to pay more than half of the rent every time I can't cut it. Why?" He chuckled at the irony. "You offering?"

Richard dutifully stuck to the script this time around. Dean's lack of notifying Aidan of their stage kiss had emboldened him, pushed something back to the foreground. He had thought for a moment...but Dean had set him straight. Thank God for that. "Who do you think should go on top?" he asked Dean, quite business-like. "Joseph would be logical, but Joseph is insecure in this scene."

"Joseph," Aidan spoke up. "Joseph is learned in these things, isn't he? John feels more overwhelmed by it all. At least that's the vibe I'm getting." He liked how saying that made him feel more in control.

"Anything can happen before opening night," Lee mentioned glibly. "They'll say 'break a leg,' but it's quite a different thing when it actually happens to the leading man. You're a good looking fellow, Aidan. Your accent is beautiful. I'd like to see you act. And I'd certainly do everything I could to procure you roles. I have a very select group of clients who trust my judgment and rarely question who I send them."

He turned his face momentarily back to Richard and Dean, who were trying to envision the glass coffee table as a hay bale. He hoped neither of them actually tried to lie down upon it. 

"Richard tops," he said absently, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. "He wouldn't have it any other way—onstage or off. He's a predator, Aidan. It's part of his appeal. He's one of those men who always gets what he goes after."

"That how he got you?" Aidan countered. He didn't know how to read Lee, when some sentences he sounded like he was trying to be nice and others it was as if he wanted to sweep Aidan’s feet out from under him. So he decided to be bluntly honest. "I prefer to earn roles by my own doing, actually. If that's how you got Richard at the top of the scene, then I feel sorry for him. I imagined he was just that good. Besides, what Richard wants is beside the point, isn't it? If he's a decent actor, then I won't be looking at Richard but at Joseph. You can't become great if you only play roles that are a copy of yourself."

Lee chuckled. "Good looking _and_ smart," his eyes swept over Aidan's frame with renewed interest. "It might come as a surprise to you that I used to do some acting myself. It's how Richard and I met. I still take a small role from time to time, but I prefer to let Richard take the spotlight. I'm a bit of a recluse, to be quite frank."

That caught Aidan by surprise. Lee was so political in his ways that it was hard to picture him as a performer. "What roles did you used to play?"

Richard knew they were, for the moment, quite forgotten by the men on the leather couch. He smiled at Dean. "Your man is finally calming down," he spoke between just the two of them. "Shall we do this then?"

Dean snuck one last look at Aidan, who seemed engaged in a conversation with Lee, then nodded. "I envision John already having his shirt off as he's working. It's hot in the haymow, and he's pretty worked up," his hands moved to open his buttons. "Do you see that? In dungarees and work boots...maybe suspenders, but they're off his shoulders, you know, hanging down."

Richard waited expectantly until Dean took the hint and unbuttoned more than the meager first two. "Joseph would be looking to get him further undressed before taking off his own clothes. I think he would be fine with any surface, but he'd want to look at him. He's neatly dressed. Maybe he keeps half his clothes on. Maybe John could, too. There's no need for full nudity to perform intimacy." Richard glanced at Aidan. He wasn't doing this for him, but nonetheless he continued to wonder just how tight he and Dean were. Aidan looked like he was explosive compared to Dean's relative calm. Insecure, Richard thought. Didn't trust Dean enough yet not to feel offended by Richard's proximity.

Though, Richard had to admit that he hadn't quite figured out how Dean felt about it all, himself. He didn't act like a man whose center of the world was his partner. Maybe Aidan's defensiveness was wholly justified. He didn't know.

"It makes me relieved to hear that, Richard," Dean admitted. "I don't mind the kissing or the touching onstage, but I have to admit, the idea of taking off too much clothing really makes me nervous." He had finished unbuttoning his oxford and let it slide to the floor, baring his chest to Richard's watchful eyes.

"John's a little hairy," he blushed under Richard's scrutiny. "But I figure there wasn't much waxing going on back then."

Richard didn't respond to this, but his eyes slowly took Dean in, as if studying a newly unearthed artifact. His eyes lingered on the love bite partially visible on the jut of Dean's hipbone, above the waistband of his jeans.

Uncomfortable, Dean cleared his throat. "You were right, you know, about me and Aidan. We've only just recently become intimate." 

"Joseph won't be—hairy, that is. He means a lot to you?" Richard asked as if he was making conversation. He masked an array of implications under that one sentence.

"Aidan's my best friend," Dean told him. "We've been living together for a few years. We're really close, Richard. And just recently it became _more._ " he raised his eyebrows, as if to explain everything. "I don't want to mess anything up. I don't want this," he gestured at the empty space between them and all that it implied, "to mess us up."

But it already was. Dean didn't want to talk about it.

Richard took a step back. He inclined his head. Aidan was looking at them every now and then, though Lee seemed to be in a conversation with him when he was not. That allowed Richard some space to communicate, softly, so that neither Aidan nor Lee could hear it. "Then it won't. I admit you have got me vexed. I don't know why that is, but I respect your choice. Be good to him. He doesn't show it, but I think he's more insecure than he lets on." He sat down and looked across the room at Lee, who instantly understood. "It's a good time for a break. How about dinner?"

Dean reached self-consciously for his discarded shirt and pulled it back on as Aidan and Lee approached them.

"All that kissing got you working up an appetite?" Lee asked, eyes locked on Dean, who scoffed and looked away guiltily. "You know," Lee mused, "we could all just get drunk and have a small orgy. What say, Aidan?" he turned to the Irishman.

Aidan took a deep breath. It didn't really help calm him down. "You know what?" He kept his eyes on Lee the whole time. "I just remembered I have some studying to do tonight. Don't let me keep you."

"He's joking," Dean shot Lee an angry look. "Tell him you're joking, Lee." His eyes sought out Richard's for support as he squeezed Aidan's arm.

"I'm sure he is," Aidan bit at Lee, "like he's been joking since we got here. I'm going home, Dean. If you still need to practice, then do it without me. Might be much easier for the both of us if you do, if I'm honest." Without waiting for anyone's permission he walked back to the foyer to retrieve his jacket and put it on.

"At least stay for dinner?" Richard asked in vain.

"Maybe next time." Aidan meant it. If Lee wouldn't be there. "Thanks for your hospitality, Mr. Armitage."

"I'm going to have to go as well," Dean told them, sadly. "I wasn't sure what to expect when we got here, but if Aidan isn't comfortable, then that's that. I'm sorry," he said to Richard. To Lee, he added, "I'm not sure he appreciated your sense of humor."

Lee leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "I wasn't joking."

Dean swallowed audibly. "We'll have to try this another time, Richard. Maybe when we can work alone." He raised his hand in parting to his co-star and followed Aidan into the hall.

"Slow down," he called after his boyfriend, voice echoing off the high ceiling, "wait for me!"

The tapping on the marble floor continued without slowing their pace. Aidan stepped outside and down the steps. He liked the cool air and the way it cleared his head. Nonetheless he continued to walk with his eyes trained ahead of him as soon as Dean had caught up.

"What did you tell him?" Richard leaned against the doorframe wearily. "We are not breaking them up. We've done it before, and I have no taste for the mess that follows. They deserve more than that."

Lee chuckled. "What's it to us, Richard? It's just a bit of fun. You mean to tell me that you wouldn't enjoy a rumble in the sack with one — or both — of them?"

"It is, isn't it? Just a bit of fun. For us, at least. If I'll have him, I'll have him by fair game." Richard glared at him. "And don't you dare go after either of them yourself. I know what you're thinking." He closed the door. The dinner he had spent a long time preparing would be for just the two of them.

Aidan did not speak. He wasn't ignoring Dean. It did appear that way though, what with his pointed look at the concrete under his feet. In all honesty, he just wanted to be left alone. That included Dean.

"Aidan, I'm sorry," Dean apologized for their hosts. "Lee was just...well, he was _dreadful._ I hadn't expected him to be like that."

"He kept bloody telling me I am handsome and that Richard is a predator who gets what he wants and how good you two look together. For Christ's sake, he wouldn't shut up about it. It's like he gets a kick out of upsetting people. I just don't get _why_."

"He was a dick to me the very first time we met," Dean said. "It's gotten better. At least he didn't demand you call him Mr. Pace. There are worse things than getting hit on by a handsome man—even if he is a wanker."

Aidan huffed. Apparently Dean hadn't understood that the thing that bothered him most was how he had mentioned Dean and Richard looked good together. Sarcasm, bitter and cold. "Yeah, I don't think that was him hitting on me."

"He was just trying to rile you, see what you're made of," Dean explained. "It's the kind of guy he is. And as far as me looking good with Richard, that's ludicrous. I'm a hairy little dwarf and he's...well, he's perfect."

"And that's just it, isn't it?" Aidan rounded on Dean now. "Since before I knew you, there was him. I see the way he looks at you. He may pretend he's Joseph when he does, but he's not. There is very little that actually stands between you two." And it wasn't him, Aidan thought bitterly. Lee had hit the nail right on the head, driven it home with his last comment. Aidan could never get between the man he wanted and his object of worship. They never should have gone there.

"Wait... _wait,_ " Dean reached for his hand and entwined their fingers. "Lee and Richard...they're together, Aidan. Why else do you think Lee was there, too? This show might require me to work with Richard—and I'm not going to lie to you, it's really been a great experience—but I am with _you,_ Aidan. I love _you._ "

"They're not acting like they're together. Fuck buddies, maybe, but certainly not love." But Aidan sounded quieter already. He had needed someone sticking up for them being together, after Lee had done his job and convinced him that he was foolish to hang onto it. He caved, sighed. "Listen, I'm okay with whatever you need to do to make the scenes work. It's a great opportunity. Just...come home to me at the end of the day. And ignore that asshole while you're at work. If he ever convinces you that you or I deserve better, I'm going to smack him for real." Aidan faintly smiled. "And you're not a dwarf, okay?"

Dean slipped his arm around Aidan's waist. "But I am hairy," he whispered, kissing Aidan on the cheek. "C'mon, let's get Chinese."

\- - - - - 

They spent the next day at the apartment, each spending time studying their scripts. In truth, there was a break here and there for food, and some shagging and a shower, and more shagging. But mostly both of them buckled down to the task of memorization.

Dean came to realize that he really loved his part. He admired John's principles and his actions. When he got to the death scene, he actually cried.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" he asked the living room walls. 

Aidan pretended he hadn't seen it and turned away, smiling to himself. He'd known that Dean wouldn't be happy to have his role end in death. He was one of the kindest people he knew, and Aidan liked that in him. A minute later he returned to the living room, made sure to accompany it with noise and kissed Dean's cheek in padding to the kitchen. "I'm beginning to really like my part," he said as he pulled open a cup of noodles. "I mean, I liked it before, but I think I'm fine with being the understudy now. It's a fun role. It's...witty," and he was surprised at his own use of the word. "The man waltzes through life like it's his playground. It's actually quite refreshing."

Dean's fingers lingered on the spot where Aidan had kissed him and his eyes followed his every movement. "Only one thing would make it better—you being in the spotlight." He slid effortlessly into Aidan's arms. "I love you."


	7. That Kiss Just For Us (Opening Night)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening night goes swimmingly... until it doesn't.

There was tension between Dean and Lee the next day, but Richard insisted Lee take a break while they worked. Dean's co-star apologized profusely for Lee's behavior at his home. Rehearsals with Richard grew even more effortless after that. Dean had never seen a production fall together so easily. The only dark spots were his confrontations with Rob, especially after Rob had gotten the chance to work with Richard while Dean blocked scenes with Luke, Richard's understudy. But even Rob kept a respectful distance after awhile, as if he knew there was no competition for the chemistry between Richard and Dean.

When opening night came around, word was out on the street that it would be one of the best enactments of the play to date. Tickets sold out like they were made of gold before anyone had seen the play. It was the cast, Richard in the lead with Peter as director, as well as the rumors of the famously avoided scene. But the people were also interested in this newcomer who got to enact that scene with the star.

Aidan took his seat at the second row. He had expressly asked Dean not to put him on the front row. He had no idea what he should expect, for Dean and Richard hadn't practiced in front of him after that night at Richard's house, and he rather didn't want to share seeing it for the first time in the company of friends. It was too personal.

Lee sat in the front row, in a separate section. He probably hadn't noticed him, and for that Aidan was glad.

Dean snuck into the dressing room shared by the minor characters to wish Adam good luck prior to stepping onto the stage. "Feels like a dream," he whispered into Adam's ear as he hugged him. "I'm glad you're here with me, Ads."

Dean's hands were shaking. The dress rehearsals had gone swimmingly, but that didn't mean anything, did it? Anything could happen. "Are you ready?" he asked his friend.

"More than ever." Adam brimmed with positive energy. "You? A lot of people are going to notice you today."

"I feel like I might puke, or piss," Dean grinned nervously, "or cry." His grin faltered. "But it'll be okay. I've got this. _We've_ got this. I mean, Peter was practically glowing last night. It's going to be amazing."

And it would be.

The lights dimmed and the noise of the theater faded slowly, until at last a dead silence remained. Aidan shook as he waited. It was ridiculous, but he was nervous. Nervous, yet incredibly proud of his boyfriend.

Act One flew by in a blur until it was time for the first big romantic scene between John and Joseph. Dean could feel the eyes of every person in the room focused on him. But none mattered more than the blue pair, inches from his own. When they kissed it was as if the hearts of the entire room opened up and enveloped them. There was a perceptible shift in the emotion of the room. Dean and Richard had them all eating out of their hands.

During a ten-minute break where neither of them were expected to be onstage, he knocked softly on Richard's dressing room door. "Richard?"

Richard looked up from having had his eyes closed, absorbing the energy of the moment. "Yes?" They had several minutes left. The crowd loved them. He grinned. The crowd loved them to bits. Of course they did.

"Hey," Dean slipped into the room. "I just wanted to thank you again for choosing me. I feel like I've died and gone to Heaven," he admitted with a dimpled smile. "I won't forget what you've done for me. It's something I'll never be able to make up to you."

Richard smiled. "I didn't pick you, Dean. It wasn't a whim that I planned beforehand. You convinced me; that's what you did. You enjoy it, don't you? Half of the crowd is yours. Wait until the haymow scene, and be prepared to finish them off single-handedly when John dies." He nudged a chair forward for Dean. "Here. You're pumped on adrenaline, I can practically smell it on you. Calm down."

Dean sank gratefully into the chair. "Your support has really bolstered me, Richard," he told his co-star. "I'm looking forward to the haymow scene," he said, a blush evident, even under his stage make-up. "The closer I get to you, the safer I feel up on that stage."

"I'm afraid quite the opposite is true for me. It's a nice feeling though, don't worry." Richard took a drink from his water bottle. "How is Adam? He looked ready to devour the crowd for a minute there."

Dean's face fell. "I... you don't feel safe and in control when we're up there, like that?"

Richard looked down. "I have told you. I selected you on chemistry."

It took a moment for Dean to understand what Richard was telling him. Richard was unnerved around him. Did that mean that Richard found him attractive?

"Well, whatever the case," Dean patted the tops of his thighs and got to his feet, "it's working. I've never felt more alive."

Richard closed his eyes and smiled. He didn't mind being tethered on the edge of losing control. It would give their scenes that extra sharpness, and he knew he wouldn't lose control tonight. The presence of a man seated on the second row made sure of that. 

A buzz alerted them to get ready and dressed in their act two costumes. Both of them already were. Richard straightened himself. "Let's do this then. Let's make it our best run yet."

He wasn't unaware of being watched from a distance. Rob. Ah. But Richard didn't mind it. Rob wasn't who was important.

The curtains opened to a stage of hay.

Dean, prior to stepping onto the stage, removed his shirt and let his suspenders fall down over his hips and backside. A make-up person sprayed his chest with a water/oil mixture to simulate perspiration and put a bit of the same substance in his hair. He felt wet and sticky, which he hoped would only enhanced his performance.

The pitchfork he was using had blunted tips, also coated with rubber so they wouldn't make a horrendous sound as he moved the hay around. He'd come to love the smell of the fragrant, scratchy hay, as well as everything that went with it.

As the stage lights came up, Dean was already hard at work. He tried not to think about the fact that he was shirtless and about to have an onstage tryst with the hottest man on the planet in front of a theater filled with 2,000 people. His stomach fluttered and he poured his efforts into dropping hay until Richard appeared.

Peter had decided that, if they were doing the most anticipated scene immediately after the break, it would be poor timing. That was why John was first joined by his sister, who came to talk to him about his enlistment. She made him promise her to return to them. Only when John stopped talking did she leave and clear the scene for Richard as Joseph.

In the audience, Aidan sat forward. He knew what came next. His eyes stuck to Dean, both admiring the way he looked and wondering what it would be like. As the play had been going on for half an hour now, he had grown accustomed to seeing him only as the shell that harbored John.

"John!" Richard panted. " There you are. John, please. It's not too late to reconsider."

"It _is_ too late, Joseph," Dean continued to work with determination at the hay, avoiding Richard's eyes. "I've signed papers. To back out now would not only be letting you down. I'd be betraying my country."

"But you would be alive!"

Richard paused to let the audience catch a breath, before pleading with Dean not to go one last time. When Joseph finally accepted it, he stepped up to John, who stood still with his back towards him. Arms wrapped around the low of John's muscled torso, and lips traced John's neck, and John slowly relaxed into the touch, head falling back with a sigh.

Aidan steeled himself.

All at once Richard turned Dean around in his embrace and kissed him hard. Several people in the audience gasped when Richard put Dean to sit on a stack of hay and practically climbed atop him.

The next few moments was a medley of slowly, steadily shed clothing, moans and kissing—languorous, passionate. From where Aidan was sitting, he could see that his cardinal rule of no tongues was being broken. The theater critic seated next to Aidan, who had been writing furiously on a tablet in her lap, paused from her work for a moment, pen in her mouth and eyes locked on the pair onstage. The auditorium was silent except for the sound effects of twittering birds and lowing cattle being piped through the sound system.

The lights kept dimming lower and lower to simulate the setting of the sun. Dean's hand crept to the waistband of Richard's blindingly white boxers and began sliding them down over the orbs of Richard's toned ass, while Dean's legs pulled Richard closer, higher.

They seemed lost to one another. Then the stage went dark and the curtain began to close.

Richard pulled himself away in the dark. If he paid attention, then he would never have heard the crowd so quiet, but blood was rushing in his ears and to all the wrong places. He'd give his actor's honor if only he had truly taken Dean, out on that stage. The kiss burned on his lips, and the memory of skin lingered under his hands. Around them rushed stage hands, reminding him of reality, and he helped Dean up with a shaking grip.

Out in that silent crowd, Aidan balanced on the edge of breaking. He took deep breaths to calm himself down but, try as he might, the calm never came. He could hardly breathe. The reporter next to him threw him an understanding smile. She knew nothing.

It had been beautiful, that much was true. But Aidan had not seen Joseph and John in the two men on stage. They did not need to have used tongue, either, but they had.

Because most likely they had wanted to.

Dean was trembling, hay stuck to his shoulders. In the dark, even with others rushing around them, he clung to Richard. It had been flawless. They were both hard. There were a million things he could have said to Richard at that moment. 

"We broke Aidan's rule," was what came out of his mouth, and he leaned in to kiss Richard again.

"Is it still a rule you value?" Richard panted between every taste of Dean. They had little time before the lights would come back on, and stage hands were moving all around them.

"I just..." Dean lowered his head to rest on Richard's shoulder. "I wanted that kiss just for us—and not for the rest of the world. We should change clothes," he squeezed Richard's hand. "We're due back out here in about seven minutes."

Richard extricated himself with reluctance. He felt sexually alive and capable of anything. There was promise in Dean's reply. "We should. I look forward to our next scene."

Adam stood stock still stage left, just at the break of the curtain. From where he stood, he could see all of the audience and yet any one of the people in the audience would have to squint to see him. But Aidan was looking straight at him, distressed, and Adam could not lie to him. Like just about everyone else behind the curtain, he had witnessed Dean drawing Richard back into a kiss. His facial expression made it quite clear what he was witnessing.

That was the only thing Aidan needed to know. He rose, kept low, and apologized for the inconvenience as he made his way out. Before the lights came back on, he had reached the top of the stairs. Aidan dared not look back. Lee would have noticed and might look at him with that gloating face of his. Worse, Dean or Richard might see. His heart couldn't take that now. He left without looking back, walked to the deserted men's room with a stone expression, and broke down as soon as he knew he was alone. 

Backstage, a few minutes later, Dean met up with Adam. They were both wearing uniforms as the next scene took place in a military encampment.

"Hey," Dean smiled in Adam's direction. "Your big scene's coming up." But the look on Adam's face told him all was not well. "Adam, what's wrong?"

"You're an asshole," Adam said quietly. Aidan was his friend too, and he couldn't forget the look on his friend’s face as Aidan had done the math. "Well, you lost him. I figure it must have been worth it. I'll be fine." He walked past him to get in place.

"Adam," Dean whispered desperately, joining him onstage, "it's... I got caught up in the scene. In Richard. I don't know what happened to me. I... Aidan?"

"Aidan knows. You know, that was a really asshole thing to do, out on the stage with him watching." Adam tried to focus on his role. He was up any moment now, and there were too many stray thoughts in his head. It was impossible to focus. "Sorry, but could you please leave me alone?" He sighed. "I can't remember my lines."

Dean felt a pang of dread pass through him and he backed away from Adam and into his own mark. Aidan couldn't have seen, he reasoned. _And you shouldn't have kissed Richard!_ a voice inside his head admonished. What the hell had he been thinking?

Dean's head spun. Had he truly just been caught up in the moment... or was he truly in love with Richard? No rational person would behave the way he just had. He couldn't remember much of what had happened onstage during the scene, only that it was amazing. It was like he'd been drinking and had a blackout. He had to talk to Aidan, get him to understand. Had to—

But then the curtains opened.

Bright lights blinded his view of the audience. Behind the actors, behind a cardboard window, a peloton matched past. They had craftily used footage and several layers of gauze to simulate a medical bay. Every now and then sounded the noise of an airplane overhead. It was a scene without Joseph, where John would be given assignments that would keep him far away from the colonel. Adam, playing a man named Casey Ashbourne, was a friendly face amidst the terror of war.

Outside that world, Aidan had left the theater.

Adam stumbled over his words. He had practiced them so well. All he could do now was turn them into stammering and weave it into the role. When he left the stage, he immediately walked to Peter to apologize, though truly nobody had noticed.

Joseph and John shared the stage several more times. Tension was palpable, for along the duration of the second act, they never came close. Richard exuded frustration whenever they tried to get some time to themselves without success. So when the lights went out for an orchestral interlude before the third and final act, bringing them back in civilian life, Richard sought Dean out behind the stage and asked him, "Ready? These are your big scenes, remember."

Dean could only nod numbly. He felt sick in his stomach. The empty seat in the second row where Aidan had been sitting was a painful reminder of his rash and stupid behavior. The fame, being onstage at the National Theatre, co-starring with Richard—none of it meant anything without having Aidan to share it with.

"I'm ready," he told Richard, but he couldn't look at him.

The scene where Demetri, played by Richard's understudy Luke, kissed him was a blur. The awkwardness around Joseph once they were reunited was tangible—and real.

People would assume it to be the war, excellently portrayed as it continued to dominate Joseph and John's lives even after returning. Joseph tried to engage John when he could, but he seemed lifeless more often than not. According to script however, they were supposed to be happy they had both made it out alive, so it was down to improvisation to handle the change of the play.

That fateful night when Joseph couldn't make it to John on time and John was attacked in an alley by former army comrades who had found out their affair while they were stationed and who had previously expressed their dislike for something 'so unnatural', passed in a haze. John fell to the ground and his life bled out of him while nobody knew. You could hear a pin drop in the audience, so quiet was it when the curtain fell and the play ended.

Richard was the one to help him up. He had planned to congratulate him with his victory, but when he saw his face he instead asked, "Are you okay?"

Dean nodded, swiping absently at the fake blood on the side of his face with one hand. Make-up would not be happy with him. Despite his concern about Aidan, he couldn't help feeling relief. They had survived opening night, and the show had gone well. Better than well, even if Dean hadn't quite been on his game for the second half. 

"We did it," he smiled softly at Richard as they waited in the wings for their curtain call. Dean was third from last—before Richard and Peter, of course. When it was his turn, he stepped out into the spotlight, unsure of what to expect.

But the noise of the crowd rose to bizarre, lonely heights as soon as the audience caught sight of him. They loved him. Although Richard was the big name in the production, it was actually Dean who had stolen their hearts. The single empty spot in the audience was easy to miss. But Dean knew it was there.

Dean accepted their acknowledgements. The sound and energy nearly bowled him over. Although he wanted nothing more than to retreat to his dressing room, get changed and go home to Aidan, when Richard came onstage and the sound swelled again, Dean turned to him and smiled. "Thank you," he whispered, squeezing Richard's hand.

"I keep telling you, it was all you." Richard was perfectly lovable as he bowed before his audience on opening night. It was a spotless night, and his heart was racing at the respect of their audience as well as the tangible pulse of Dean against his skin. Richard glowed, and all of the audience bore witness. He shared a proud look with Lee before stepping aside for their director. Richard didn't unlink hands with Dean.

"Now we wait," Luke said ominously after the curtain closed.

"Wait?" Dean's body thrummed with nervous energy. "Wait for what?"

"The reviews, of course," Luke told him. "We hang out in an all-night diner somewhere until the morning edition of _The Times_ comes out. Then we read the reviews. Not that you need to be worried," he told Dean, clapped a hand on his shoulder and moved away to change.

But Dean wouldn't be hanging out with his cast mates that night.

"I need to go home," Dean told Richard, unlinking their hands. "Aidan left halfway through, and he's upset."

"You could call him?" Part of Richard's buzz was fading. Aidan. Apparently Aidan still mattered.

"He is right, you know," said Lee, who had made his way backstage. "You only have one opening night to celebrate. It's important that you celebrate it with everyone. It's a moment of bonding for the next shows."

"I've got to go after him and smooth this over," Dean explained. "I'll meet up with you guys after. Just tell me where to go and I'll be there. I don't want to miss it... but, Richard, I screwed up. I have to fix it."

Dean dashed to his dressing room and pulled out a handful of make-up removal cloths, scrubbing at the sticky mess on his face. He'd done only a half-assed job before he decided it was good enough, and pulled on his street clothes. 

Their apartment was dark when Dean got home, yet he went to Aidan's closed bedroom door and knocked. "Aidan?" he called softly.

He heard a groan, creaking springs, and nothing more than that. Aidan had turned around on his bed.

"Aidan... Aidan, please," Dean spoke to the unforgiving wood. He reached for the knob and turned it, but the door was locked. "I'm sorry, Aidan. I don't know what comes over me when Richard's around. It's like I—God, it's like I'm under a spell. I know that sounds stupid, and it _is_ stupid. I love _you,_ Aidan. Only you. Please, believe me. You are the most important thing in my life."

Aidan sounded annoyed. "Yes, well, nice to know how you treat the most important thing in your life. How long has it been going on? How long have you been kissing him under the pretense of it being rehearsals?"

"I know right now nothing I say is going to make you happy, Aidan...and I sound crazy saying this, but sometimes I lose time when I'm with Richard," Dean lay his forehead against the door, silently berating himself for telling that to Aidan. "But aside from that one time, at his house, when you were there, it's only been onstage, at rehearsals. Nothing is going on with us, I swear to you. I got caught up in the moment tonight, Aidan. I've been so happy lately—but none of my successes mean anything if I don't have you sharing them with me."

Dean waited outside the door for another thirty seconds, which turned to sixty in silence. 

Tossing and turning on his bed, Aidan finally lay still looking up at the ceiling. He didn't know what to make of it. Dean sounded like he meant it, like he was genuinely sorry, but did that make it right? No. So what if Dean wanted to be with Aidan? He wanted Richard more, apparently, and even if he didn't, even if it was in fact a heat of the moment thing, that only ruined any possibility of trust.

Dean was going to be in a nightly theater production with this man. He would get to be in the temptation every day. He would enact making love to that man more often than he actually made love to Aidan.

"There's no competition for me here," Aidan spoke quietly—so quietly that Dean had to strain himself to hear it. "You've always wanted him. You will want him after we are through. You'll kiss him again, and I can't make you stop. Sooner or later, this was bound to end between us."

"End?" Dean sounded desperate. "I don't want us to end! Richard's a superstar. He's like some mythical creature. He's not real. Not like us. I need you, Aidan. I _love_ you! You're my best friend. I can't bear the thought of life without you. Please, give me a chance to prove it to you!"

The pounding of a broomstick against the floor under his feet and a shout from the apartment below them mollified Dean into silence.

"I don't want to live without you, Aidan," he murmured. "I don't think I can."

"Well, neither do I!" Aidan couldn't care less about the neighbors downstairs. "But Christ, Dean, that's not the point! Don't you get it? You say you love me, but you kiss him. How do I know this isn't going to keep happening?"

"I have to kiss him, Aidan," Dean lay his forehead against the door in exasperation. "I'm getting paid to kiss him. It's my job. And it will be, until the run's over. I don't love him, Aidan. I swear to you. I have always been fascinated by him—you know this, and I can't lie about that. But it was just a stupid, impossible crush. Ours is a working relationship. We just have this indescribable chemistry onstage. I don't understand it, Aidan. I don't. But it isn't the same as the love I have for you. Aid... I want to be with you forever."

He stepped away from the door, taking a few steadying breaths. 

The man on the other side squeezed his eyes shut. It sounded like something he wanted to believe. It did. Aidan didn't want to lose Dean, though he knew he would come second to his career. That was fine, because he understood it. If Dean were to tell him to quit the play he was in, even as an understudy—well, he'd probably say yes, but not if the director suddenly did give him the lead. "I told you, no tongue. You didn't have to go there, but you did. That's cheating, you know. I consider that cheating. You say you want me, but I'm not seeing it in the things you do." Aidan's voice quivered now. He bit on his lip to keep himself together.

"I don't want to have this conversation with you through a locked door, Aidan," Dean said sadly. "I know what I've done. I’m sick with shame over it. I wish I had an excuse for it that would magically make you happy, but I don't. But I've done nothing but love you since we met, Aidan. Every day. You are always on my mind. I wish you could see it."

Convinced that Aidan wasn't going to let him in, Dean slipped into his own bedroom. He really didn't feel like going out, but he thought about the rest of the cast. He would have loved to have taken Aidan along with him, but not like this. Not with the resentment and mistrust that he'd only brought on by his own stupid actions. He opened his closet and took out a battered overnight bag and hurriedly stuffed it with a few day's worth of clothing and toiletries.

Maybe he could talk Adam into letting him stay at his place for a few days ...but he doubted it.

A door clicked open on the other side of the hall. Careful not to be loud, Aidan padded to Dean's door and leaned against the frame. "I didn't say you have to go," he whispered.

Aidan looked a mess. His hair was in disarray, his eyes puffy, although he tried not to show it. Aidan kept his eyes on the floor. "I need to ask you something and I need you to answer me honestly. Would you sleep with him?"

"I'm with _you_ , Aidan," Dean responded, hand holding his toothbrush and toothpaste suspended in the air. He wanted to move closer to Aidan, to hold him, but he wasn't sure that was a good idea.

Aidan didn't look all that approachable either. "Yes, but that wouldn't stop you. I mean it, honestly. If he'd come onto you, would you be able to tell him no?"

“Five years ago, last year, even two months ago, the answer would have been simple. Yes. Yes, of course. And that shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, Aidan.” Dean dropped the items in his hand into his overnight bag. “But that changed when I committed to you. I’ve just tried to tell you, Aidan, but you aren't hearing me when I say it...something _happens_ when I'm around him. I—I don't understand it, and sometimes I don't even remember it, but it's like I sometimes lose control. It's not because I want to." His eyes skipped away guiltily. 

"You don't _remember?_ " That was a peculiar thing to say about cheating. Aidan stepped forward. "Will you please stop packing and talk to me? I'm trying to understand, but what you're saying doesn't make a lot of sense." He sat on the bed and looked at Dean. "I don't want to lose you; I'm just scared that I will." He swallowed. "Look, if you want to try an open relationship while you figure this out, I'm willing to try it. Just as long as you don't lose your heart to him, and it stops being open after the play ends. It's purely physical around him, isn't it?"

"It's... it's more than physical," Dean tried to put into words what he was experiencing. "It's _carnal._ It's _animal._ You know me, Aidan. I'm pretty vanilla. I've always been the predictable guy next door. I'm not creative in bed and I'm not really romantic either. But when I'm around Richard, I feel like some—well, like Casanova. I feel like I could do anything—or anyone—that I wanted to. I feel invincible and powerful. It happened onstage tonight."

Dean knew that the more he spoke, the worse it sounded. "And I admire him, Aidan. I like him, and I'm grateful that he wants to work with me. But I don't love him, and I don't want an open relationship. I want you. I want _us._ "

"So it'll happen again. Because that's how you talk about it." Aidan was bitter. _Casanova. Invincible._ They were the kinds of words he wanted spoken about him. But Aidan only made Dean vanilla and Richard made him clouded with irrational lust. It made Aidan jealous. "I have no idea how to fix this," he admitted. "I love you so much, but having you talk about someone else like that, it hurts. It's going to continue to hurt me. Love doesn't make it better, because it doesn't make it stop. I know what you're saying, it's just, I don't know if I can take that."

"I don't even _want_ to talk about it!" Dean cried. "I'm so ashamed of how I acted tonight that I want to die. I can't bear to hurt you, Aidan. I'll do everything I can to avoid him, but he is my co-star and we need a positive working relationship. What can I do, right now, to make this right? I need you to tell me."

The problem was that Dean couldn't make it right. Stupid though Aidan considered himself for it, he didn't want to lose him. They had been good friends for a long time, and half of that time he had wanted to be with him. He hadn't expected it to blow up so soon, actually. Dean's promises now meant nothing, and he needed to be with the rest of the crew, not here.

Right. The rest of the crew. Aidan wondered. "Is it okay if I ask Adam to look out for me? I can't be there all the time, but he is. I'm sure he could talk sense into you if this happened again." It was the only way he could think of to make sure Richard didn't end up charming Dean into bed. If that ever happened, things would really be over. But maybe a kiss could be excusable.

No, not really. It was just that Aidan didn't want to let go.

Dean watched as Aidan's face ran through a gamut of emotions. Adam, as his _babysitter?_ Dean frowned at the notion that someone who still—despite warnings to the contrary—continued to sneak about with a married man would be serving as his moral compass.

But he didn't want to disappoint Aidan any further. "Whatever you want, Aidan," he assured him. "Whatever you need to feel secure, I'll give it to you. In the meantime, I have something for you."

Dean walked to his dresser and opened the bottom drawer, reaching into the very back under some old t-shirts. He pulled out a ring sized box. "D'you remember the day we were walking in Soho and we went past that estate jewelry store? You saw this in the window and said it reminded you of something your grandfather used to wear?" Dean opened the box to reveal an intricately braided silver ring. "I was going to save this for your opening night...but I think maybe you need it more right now. I do love you, Aidan. You are always in my thoughts. Will you wear this, to try to remember that I love you?"

Aidan stared at the ring. It couldn't have been timed worse. Then again, maybe it was perfect right now. It gave solidity to Dean's claims that he did have Aidan on his mind before Richard. He picked the ring gingerly out of the box, turning it over between his fingertips. It was cold from it’s hiding place so near the baseboard. "Dean," Aidan whispered, "does this mean anything? Did you mean it as something else than how you're giving it now?" Men didn't give each other rings this easily. "Because I'd wear it, but I need to be on the same page with you about what it means first."

"I got my first paycheck for the play last Friday," Dean told him, "and the first thing I thought about was getting you this ring. Please don't read too much into it. I’m not asking you to marry me, Aidan… but it _is_ a token of how I feel for you. It’s much stronger than friendship. I'd be a fool to think it means anything more serious — especially in light of recent events. Like I said, I was saving it for your big night, but this is more important. I hope you'll take it. You don't have to wear it, but ...well, it's a gift," he put the box in Aidan's hand and closed his fingers around it. 

Quite unexpectedly, Aidan was crying. He fought hard to push the tears back, but they refused to be held in. He held the ring tightly and looked away in shame. It was bad enough that Dean had managed to hurt him this deeply, but he didn't want to return the favor. In his mind the kiss kept playing. Dean and someone else. How long would it take before Aidan could properly trust him again? Words got stuck in his throat. "...Sorry," he mumbled at last.

Dean pulled him close, wiping at his tears with a thumb. "Aidan, you have nothing to be sorry for. You're perfect."

"Not perfect enough."

Dean didn't know how to respond to this, so he hugged him. "None of this is your fault, Aid," he tried to soothe him. "It's me. It must be the stress. It's the only thing I can think it could possibly be. I am going to make this right. I'm going to make sure you know how much I love you." His hands ran smoothly over Aidan's back and shoulders. "I am yours."

Aidan nodded mutely. He screwed his eyes shut when again he thought about Richard and that very real kiss. With the impossibility to hate Dean for it, his resentment started shifting towards the star. He would really appreciate it if Dean wouldn't go tonight. It would be unfair though. "What will you do now?"

"If everything were okay with us, I'd go join the cast at the diner," Dean told him. "They're having breakfast and waiting for the _Times_ review. But everything's not okay. I want to stay here with you."

"I—maybe I can come with you?" Aidan still played with the ring. "Adam is there, isn't he? I can talk with him too."

Dean nodded. "I'd love it if you'd come with me, Aidan. You don't have to be up too early tomorrow?"

"No practice tomorrow," Aidan faintly smiled. "Have you got a moment, in that case? I probably look terrible. The crowd did love you, you know. You had them wrapped around your finger."

"I didn't care so much, once you'd left," Dean admitted. "Please, take as much time as you need." 

He unpacked the bag while Aidan freshened up, and a solid lump formed in his stomach. He had to get his shit together. He had to learn to control himself around Richard. Whatever vibes Richard was sending out, he had to learn to deflect them. Even if the performance suffered for it. Aidan came first.

When Aidan emerged from the bathroom in jeans and a sweater, Dean kissed him on the cheek. "Gorgeous."

Aidan ducked his head and tangled a hand into Dean's. The ring was there. It fit well, and it suited him. "So where to?"


	8. The Reviews Are In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Aidan go to the opening night cast party. The reviews are in! But do they even matter compared to what's going on in the men's room? :)

Dean was quieter than normal on their way to the diner. Aidan did keep glancing at him. He smiled at some point. 

"I don't want him to have you," he suddenly said. "You belong with me. Should I tell him that? Or is that too much?"

"He doesn't need to be told," Dean said quietly, running a finger along the ring, which looked even brighter against Aidan's olive skin than it had in their apartment. "He knows how I feel about you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of program onto which Luke had scribbled the name of the place they were going. "It's called the Table Café... it's a few blocks from the National."

Aidan wondered at the irony of Richard knowing that Dean had chosen Aidan. Maybe it had been a spur of the moment thing for Richard too. Either way, Aidan's opinion about him did not improve. He lit a cigarette while they walked the last few blocks and stubbed it out upon reaching the diner. Aidan leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks. For coming home for me."

The door opening brought to them all too suddenly into the full noise of the crew. Technicians and cast were mingling in several equally rowdy alcohol-influenced discussions. Aidan nudged Dean and decided to put on his best game face. "Introduce me?"

"I'd love to," Dean slipped a possessive arm around Aidan's waist and studied the tables carefully before guiding Aidan towards a booth where Luke and Rob sat, a pitcher of beer and a basket of shrimp between them. "Hey, guys," he raised a hand in greeting. "I'd like you to meet Aidan Turner, my boyfriend. Aid, this is Luke, Richard's understudy and my understudy, Rob. They both have other roles in the play as well."

Luke smiled. "Hello, Aidan."

Rob smirked and reached for Aidan's hand, shaking it. "Well now, you're a bit of a stunner, aren't you?"

Aidan, who wasn't planning on letting any foul words slip through tonight, smiled at him and said gracefully, "Thanks. It's good to meet you at last. And you, Luke. I'm an understudy myself, so no hard feelings to Mr. Armitage when I say I hope you get to be up there on the stage for a few days too." He had heard the talk about this Rob character, and he quickly moved on, whispering in Dean's ear as they moved outside of hearing range, "I see what you've had to put up with. He's a junior Lee."

He didn't see Lee around, nor Richard. Perhaps that could still happen. Aidan did notice Adam though, and he quickly steered them both in that direction so he could hug his friend. "Congrats! Opening night! You made it! How was it? I'm sorry I missed your performance..."

He was aware that people were probably wondering if Dean was lying to him. Just about everyone here had to have seen Dean and Richard kiss, and here Dean came parading around his unexpected boyfriend. Well, it sent a message at least. Aidan wasn't planning to step aside for Richard, and neither was Dean willing to.

Dean gave Adam an apologetic smile. Adam's smiles were for Aidan though, not him. After giving Adam a huge hug, Dean introduced Aidan to some of the other principles, and finally to Peter Jackson himself.

"So, this is the young man who inflames your passions," Peter grinned, shaking Aidan's hand heartily. "Well done, lad. Well, done."

"Oh, it's..." Flustered as Aidan became under the praise from a director whose name could rival Richard's, Aidan didn't know what to say. He squeezed Dean's hand. "I'm glad I do. If things go the way I expect them to go, people might be considering him the best newcomer soon, and I'm sure that others will tell me the same. The play was a great success. I love that you changed the story a bit to improve the timing." It was almost easy to forget Richard and the mess he had made of their relationship. "What do you expect from the review?"

Jackson beamed, "I expect glowing words for this one," he clapped Dean on the back so hard that Dean winced. "He stole the show. But I supposed you already know that."

Dean blushed under Peter's attentions. "The entire production was brilliant. Peter made everything effortless."

"He is a master," came Lee's voice from behind the trio, having overheard. "Richard only works with the very best. Hello again, Aidan."

Aidan cringed. Of course Lee would show up at some point. "Hello, Lee. Mr. Armitage is around too, I take it?" Whereas others would consider the use of Lee's first name a familiarity, Aidan used it explicitly to show his lack of respect for the man.

"Mr. Armitage is here," Richard said behind him.

"There you go." Aidan gave Peter a bow and shook his hand again. "You've truly done a great job. I look forward to seeing the show again."

"I look forward to that too," Dean squeezed Aidan's shoulder. "You missed my epic death scene. I'm told it looks very convincing from every corner of the theater."

"It could probably do with more blood," Lee cocked his head to the side, picturing the tableau. "I mean, considering the nature of your supposed injuries. There should be more blood."

"How about we get something to eat?" Dean suggested to Aidan, realizing since he started smelling the food that he was, indeed, famished. "I saw a table for two in the corner."

Aidan took the opportunity to get away from Lee greedily before he started on his typical subjects. They ate in relative silence, which caused him to look at his ring more often than he might otherwise have. He managed to finish his plate before Richard joined them.

"Hi," was Richard’s solitary word of greeting.

Aidan shrugged. "Hello."

"Can I talk to you?"

Aidan looked up. "You are taking to me now."

"Privately?" Richard actually looked like it mattered to him.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Richard questioningly, but the man just nodded. "I'm fine here," Dean told Aidan. "Don't be long, okay?"

Aidan could feel his hands balling into fists as he followed Richard to the bar. "What is it?" he asked the older man.

Perfectly voiced from years of practice, Richard had thought this conversation over and didn't need to grasp for words now. "You know what happened," he started. "I'm so sorry, Aidan. I need to be honest with you, I do find myself attracted to your man. I have told him so before, and he said in reply that he chose you. Somehow I thought today would be different. I can't tell you why. He simply looked more receptive, perhaps. I kissed him because I thought I stood a chance. And I thought that was what he wanted, until he chased after you and brought you back here. I feel terrible, Aidan. You're a nice guy, and I told myself I wouldn't come between you, not unless he wanted me to. I made a bad judgment call. You need to know how sorry I am about that."

The last thing Aidan had expected was for Richard to be apologetic, or for him to admit that he had feelings for Dean. The revelation scared him, because he knew Dean had been enamored with Richard since he was a young teenager. 

"He's a huge fan of yours, Richard. He saw you on the screen when he was eleven years old and he fell for you then," was what came out of Aidan's mouth. "It would be very easy for you to take advantage of that admiration, I suppose. But it would mean the world to me if you didn't. You see, he might be a nice distraction to you, but he's _everything_ to me."

"I noticed it's quite the other way around too. I may be a childhood infatuation, but I've not made him forget about you. Be good to him, Aidan, and consider yourself as lucky as he is to have you. He is well worth it." Richard smiled at him then. He did feel terrible about the ordeal. "It won't happen again, I assure you that."

Aidan studied Richard's face carefully for signs of deception. When he found none, he agreed with Richard. "He _is_ worth it, Richard. He's much, much more than looks and talent. He'd give his last pint of water to someone who was thirsty. He has a big heart. One that's easy to get into, and very difficult to get out of. I would appreciate it if you made his struggle harder," Aidan smiled. "You two were very, very convincing tonight onstage," he added, although he wasn't sure why.

"You ask me to step back, is that it?" Richard looked at the ring around Aidan's finger. His words were pleasant because he wanted them to be. "The success of the play depends on the chemistry between us. I have told Dean the same thing."

"I realize this sounds like an order," Aidan eyes followed Richard's down to the ring, and he slowly slid the hand under the table and into his lap, "but it's more of a request. I saw incredible chemistry, I can't deny that. What this boils down to is, can you keep that chemistry on the stage and not steal my boyfriend from me, Richard?"

"Ah, now that's also partly on you. But since I believe we would both hate to see him in pain, let's both do our best." Richard leaned forward. "A small word of advice, Lee has been talking about you. If you are not interested in his company tonight, you have about ten seconds to make it look like you're occupied."

Aidan's face suddenly looked as if he's smelled something foul. "What _is_ it with you two?" he asked, not hiding his disgust. "You're rich, good looking, famous guys... and you toy with people. Are you that bored with your lives?"

Dean couldn't help overhear the escalating tones coming from the table across the way and was watching the pair with greater concern.

" _Toy_ with people?" Richard rose now. "I come here telling you that that's not what I'm doing, or at least I don't intend to. I cannot say the same for my friend, but I can warn you. If my attempt at doing the honorable thing is lost on you, you might as well tell me now."

"I accept your apology, and I truly believe that you'll make an effort," Aidan narrowed his eyes. "But I also believe that you're enjoying this. Am I wrong?"

"No. But a man has the right to hope." Richard raised his chin. He could sense Lee coming their way, just as predicted. "I like him, Aidan. I do not take from others because I have had it happen to me and it is not something I want for someone else, but make no mistake that if you let him slip away, I cannot tell you I would not hope to—in time—be a supportive shoulder. Go out for a smoke. Lee detests cigarette smoke."

Aidan had no idea how to respond to Richard. The man was waiting for him to slip up so he could swoop in and seal the deal. With a frustrated sigh, he slipped from the table and past a smug looking Lee without giving him the time of day. He’d left his jacket at the table with Dean, so he returned, slipping his hand into the inside pocket for his cigarette and lighter.

"What was that all about?" Dean wondered. "It didn't look good. What did he say to you, Aidan?"

"Just that he wants you, but he's willing to bide his time," Aidan huffed around his attempts at lighting his smoke. "I wouldn't put it past him if he's going to propose a partner swap soon. Apparently Lee has a thing for me, not like that wasn't already painfully obvious." His hand shook. "Why is it that every time that guy is polite to me, I feel like he's stabbing me in the back?"

Dean's stomach did a small flip at Richard's revelation and he couldn't help looking his direction. But Richard was drinking a martini coolly and chatting with Lee. "He's going to have to wait a long, long time," Dean reached across the table and squeezed Aidan's hand. "Like, until one of us is dead," he smiled crookedly. "They both are, I hope. Unless, of course, you are harboring a secret crush on Lee," he chuckled. "He does have incredible eyes."

His answer was an exclamation with ghastly revulsion. "He has a shit personality! And so does Armitage, if he talks to me about you like that. I'm going to be patient with them, but just so you know, I am not going to let him take you away. I'm sure I can get you to feel less vanilla around me. Just watch me." His look skittered back and forth between Richard and Lee. Sometimes they felt like they were a different species altogether, tall and proud, and bizarrely forward. A yawn pushed past his lips unintentionally.

"I have an idea," Dean smiled mischievously and reached into his jacket pocket. He showed Aidan a small bottle of lube concealed in his palm. "Why don't we start right now? Take me back into the restroom, lock the door and make me yours." He eyed Aidan hungrily. 

Any drowsiness was easily expelled at that. Aidan's eyes sparkled. "You mean that?" He butted out his only just burning cigarette, seizing the chance before a Dean could reconsider, grabbed his hand and dragged him along. Halfway to the door he turned. "They don't have security cams or something, do they? ...Oh, whatever." And past the crowd of people he pulled Dean into the restroom, waited incredibly impatiently until the single occupant of a cubicle was done washing his hands and left, before taking out his belt to attach the door handle to the towel machine, effectively locking the room. Why was Dean carrying along lube anyway? "Undress."

Dean groaned at Aidan's suggestion. "You got it." He pulled his baseball shirt over his head, tossing it onto the counter, and slipped out of his sneakers, hands moving to his belt, eyes glued to Aidan's dark ones, spurring him into action. 

Aidan turned away from him. He stood in front of the door when he pushed down his slacks and took off his shirt deliberately slowly, making sure his hands crawled everywhere he wanted Dean's to be. They ended under his boxers, massaging himself as he ground against the door. He was making a bit more effort because he felt he had to prove himself, but he undeniably liked it a lot. A pleasant anticipation ran in Aidan's blood. "You like this?"

Lee's eyes followed Aidan as he and Dean snuck off to the restroom. Oh, he knew that look far too well. "Whatever you said to young Turner has certainly given him a hard-on," he told Richard, inclining his head in the direction of the departing couple. "Going off to consummate, no doubt. D'you suppose this place has security cameras?"

In the restroom, Aidan continued to touch himself in a private show for Dean. He didn't mind that people could literally be on the other side of the door and they would hear his voice when he asked, "What do you want me to do?"

The thing was, Lee knew his way around a computer. The information was right there for the taking, if one knew how to use it. He had loved the digital revolution when it took shape and had made sure to surround himself with those who could teach him for awhile. Security would not know they were looking at a looped feed, whereas the actual live images were rerouted to a laptop screen in the front seat of Lee's tinted-window sedan.

He reclined and bit at a milkshake straw. "This'll be fun."

Richard chuckled darkly next to him. "You're awful, Lee."

"I don't see you getting out of the car."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Dean slipped the small bottle of lube from the front pocket of his jeans and sat it meaningfully on the counter. "I want another mark," he told Aidan, pulling down his zipper and pushing off his jeans. "And I want you to take me, Aidan. I want you to fuck me."

"I can do that," Aidan licked his lips. He stalked up to Dean and turned him to face the wall-covering mirror. There lay something obscenely erotic in doing this in here, with Dean facing his naked self before he saw Aidan sink to his knees, push him forward onto cool granite, and circled his tongue around his most private of spots.

The act was so intimate and so unexpected that Dean sobbed out in pleasure, forehead against the cool mirror. "Oh my god, Aid," his voice was hoarse. "That feels so fucking amazing. Open me up. I want you so bad I can taste it." He reached back to curl a hand in Aidan's soft curls, face contorted in pleasure.

"This is ever so much better than 'Sherlock,'" Lee chuckled, reaching over and easing down Richard's zipper, eyes never leaving the screen.

The reply was at the tip of Aidan's tongue. Fortunately for Dean he was spared the words. Aidan dipped in to tease the back of his lover's balls. His free hand stroked himself in a poor rhythm. Just when the brush of his hair could become ticklish, Aidan's mouth clamped down over the spot behind Dean's sack and sucked hard. Nobody would see it there, but that didn't matter. Dean was Aidan's alone.

In a mad blur, he plucked the lube from the counter. Aidan had never done it before—had never heard of it being done before—so it was a bit of a guess whether it would work when he dabbed his lips with the medium, put a small bit into his mouth. Then he returned those lips to Dean's ass and delved his tongue in.

Richard tried to restrain himself. "You're the devil," he spat, hips arching uncontrollably. "I will envision this every day when we're on stage. I am supposed to be a professional."

"You're not supposed to be anything," purred Lee. He turned the volume up by a bit. "You are missing out though. Look at him, so ready for it."

"Ready for _Aidan_ , you mean." Richard gave a pleasured grunt as Lee gripped his length, already hard from what he was witnessing. "They are a beautiful couple, Lee. This is as close as we're going to get to having sex with either of them."

"There are other ways," Lee reminded him. "We can do whatever we want. You know this," he whispered in Richard's ear, speeding up his ministrations.

Dean's short fingernails scritched noisily down the mirror as he writhed. Aidan's tongue had him speechless, moaning in pleasure. " _In_ me, Aid," he begged finally. "Get in me."

Aidan had rather set his mind to showing Dean that his lover could be kinky himself, too, and for that he didn't obey the request just yet. He drew himself up and helped Dean into a standing position in front of him. A hand snuck around his waist to his front, circling his pert cock. "Look at you," he breathed, and gave the member a squeeze. "How could any man be so beautiful?"

Richard was losing the battle against his restraint. "Ways?" he absently asked, while his eyes nearly fluttered shut. "Look at them and tell me seduction would be effective for longer than a few days."

"I'm not talking about seduction," Lee purred, "but you already know that. I'm talking about compelling them. Don't tell me you haven't considered it."

" _You_ are beautiful," Dean breathed, fisting a handful of Aidan's hair and pulling him down into a kiss. He ground his hips back meaningfully against Aidan's erection.

"What, and you get Aidan? Have you ever done a worse job compelling anyone?" Richard kissed Lee hard. "No, Dean could be compelled, but not Aidan. And I don't want to compel him."

The lust in Dean's countenance finally made Aidan snap. Without so much as an attempt at preparing him with fingers, he lined himself up and, getting no murmur that he shouldn't, he pushed home. Aidan bit in Dean's shoulder, hissing.

Someone rattled the door. One groan from Aidan told whoever was on the other side of the door that he could wait a while longer.

Dean let out a lusty moan that would have alerted anyone standing near the door to the restroom as to what was going on inside. His hand slipped round behind Aidan and gave his ass a squeeze, nails raking across it, leaving stripes of red as Aidan pounded him, claimed him. The slapping of skin was punctuated by grunts of pleasure.

They didn't last long, bodies thrumming with the thrill of location and need. Dean came first, followed shortly after by his lover. Breathing heavily and leaning against the countertop for support, Dean raised his eyes to Aidan's. "That was..." he began and in limited vocabulary gave way to a sated chuckle. "Thank you."

"I love you," said Aidan in his own post-orgasmic bliss. When his knees stopped shaking, he reached for a paper towel to clean up part of the mess they had made, smattering kisses along Dean's back as he went about it. Aidan yawned again. "Very welcome. Christ, I'm getting old. You're planning on staying up all night, aren't you? How much longer is that?"

Dean glanced down at his watch. "Paper comes soon," he grinned. "Might already be here. I feel like I could stay up for days," he turned and kissed Aidan, hands roaming to his backside. "God, everyone's going to know what we've been up to."

"Enough fucking around already," a muffled voice from outside the restroom—Rob's—admonished. "Reviews are in. Get out here!"

Dean handed Aidan his shirt. "I love you too."

Aidan laughed. He patched himself up, splashed some water into his face and straightened his clothing. He wasn't sorry in the least. "You were hot there," he said between putting on his socks and smiled at Dean. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for this man.

Adam knew, of course. He looked at them with a mixture of 'I don't get you two' and 'I'm so jealous of you'. In a good way. Aidan hung back when the rest of the crew gathered around Peter, who had the paper in his hands and waited for everyone to quiet down so he could read it aloud.

Peter, who had already read a few lines ahead, smiled around at his cast and crew, cleared his throat and began:

"Realistic combat scenes, amputations, blood and coarse language were all part and parcel of Alec Masterson's _Friendly Fire,_ which opened last night at the National. But the shocking scene that stole the show wasn't violent or gory—but two men having passionate sex in a haymow."

A chorus of chuckles arose from the tables. Dean blushed and reached for Aidan's hand under the table, ducking his head.

"There wasn't a moment of this play that wasn't riveting, due in large part to the directorial attention to detail that is a hallmark of Peter Jackson's work." Applause greeted this announcement and Jackson raised a hand for silence.

"Veteran Richard Armitage led the charge of this tour de force with his commanding voice, yet humble presence, as school teacher-turned-soldier Joseph Gladstone. Luke Evans turned in a stellar performance as the spurned, lovelorn Demetri, and every single member of the company rose to the challenge of reaching the bar set high by these two. However, it was newcomer Dean O'Gorman who theater-goers couldn't stop talking about in the lobby and in the parking lot. With his boy-next-door good looks and passionate performance of the devoted and protective John Parker, he was the audience, and critics', favorite."

Dean squeezed Aidan's hand and when Aidan looked up at his friend, he saw tears in Dean's eyes. 

"The chemistry between O'Gorman and Armitage was palpable," Jackson went on to read. "Romantic scenes that should have contained awkwardness, or at the very least hesitancy, were pulled off with the gusto of a Hollywood power couple. Perhaps there's more going on between the costars than the public knows?" 

Rob turned to Richard, who'd just slid into a booth. "Well?" he asked Richard. "Is there?"

"What did I miss?" Richard shrugged, smiling innocently.

The place burst into laughter.

"We can go anytime," Dean whispered in Aidan's ear, clearly uncomfortable with Rob's insinuation, which had obviously been an ill-timed joke. 

But Aidan kept him anchored where they stood. If he wasn't going to do something now, he was always going to have to listen to remarks like these. While everyone's eyes were on Dean for his side of the story, Aidan drew him into a kiss that lasted at least half a minute and had everyone gaping. The few people who weren't aware of their tryst in the bathroom were quickly catching on. Catcalls sounded. "All mine," Aidan grinned, caressing Dean’s face. "Proud of you."

"What can I say?" Dean was breathless, swept away in the whirlwind that had been the past twelve hours. "Aidan's my muse."

Rob, meanwhile, sat back grumpily, arms crossed, his attempt to discredit Dean having fallen flat.

The news came equally unexpected to Aidan, who looked at him in surprise and soon burst into a broad smile. Richard was forgotten, and nobody gave Lee's state of disarray any attention—but they did when it came to Dean's disheveled hair, or Aidan who had poorly buttoned up his shirt. "We drink to that!" he called out. It was not his crowd, and yet nobody minded it.

"Your understudy is an ass," Aidan whispered while everyone turned back to Peter. "How did he make it to understudy?"

"He's wildly talented," Dean explained. "And he's extremely attractive," he shrugged. "I mean, look at him. I'm fortunate he rubbed Richard the wrong way or I'd be _his_ understudy."

From his seat, Rob continued to study the pair, not caring that they were watching him as well.

"He is kinda scary, I guess" Dean smiled, smoothing down Aidan's unruly hair.

Rob only looked away when Lee demanded his attention. The occasional looks made it clear that Lee was only talking to them for Dean and Aidan's sake, which struck Aidan as odd.

"I should head home soon," Aidan said, leaning into the hand. "Haven't been sleeping well. But you should stay if you want to. This is your night, after all."

"I'm exhausted," Dean nuzzled Aidan's ear and whispered. "You wore me out, Aid. I'm the luckiest man in the world." The clock read 4:45 a.m. "Let's go home and get some sleep," He suggested, pulling gently at his hand and giving Adam, who had caught his eye, a good-bye wave.

They returned home under a drizzle of rain and fell into Aidan's bed together. Half asleep, there wasn't a place where Aidan could feel safer than here, tucked against Dean's warmth and with his breath skimming his shoulder. "Love you," he whispered. "Night."

\- - - - 

If Aidan was around frequently at the theater during the next few days, he said it was because he had a few half days off. Nobody minded as he took a seat, because he tended to be more useful than a regular observer and frequently jumped in when people asked him what they could improve. Peter was focused on the leads, and so Aidan got to spend more time around Adam and Dean.

During the next week, Dean could honestly say he wasn't feeling the strong pull of attraction towards Richard that he had been on opening night, or during the audition. However, their scenes were also lacking the passion and intensity that the reviews hinted at, and Peter was not pleased.

"Come on, lads," he implored the two of them after a third lackluster performance. "Something's off with you two. Did you have a falling out?"

Richard shook his head. He knew why their chemistry was lacking. Since Dean had reconciled with Aidan and definitively chosen him, he sensed a distance. Like Dean wasn't willing to try out their boundaries any more. That was not what Peter needed to hear, and certainly not Aidan, who watched them with shielded interest. "I'm sorry," he said instead. "I haven't been feeling very well. I'm afraid it's because of me."

"I've been holding back too," Dean admitted, because it was true, and Aidan certainly knew it. "Perhaps if Richard and I could have a moment alone... we could talk it out?"

Dean looked questioningly at Richard. "Your dressing room? Somewhere private?"

"My dressing room is fine."

Aidan kept his eyes on the two. He didn't like it when they both walked off together, but he had to be confident. It seemed to be under Peter's orders.

Richard let Dean in and closed the door behind him. He sat down, before taking a deep breath. "This isn't working."

Dean decided he had to tell Richard what had happened. "Aidan exploded opening night. He knows I kissed you backstage. I have been having trouble controlling myself, especially my feelings, when I'm around you. I'm not proud of that, but it's the truth. I wish I had an explanation for it. Maybe it's all due to that 'chemistry' you spoke of—that the critics spoke of. You are an incredibly handsome, magnetic man, Richard," Dean distractedly ran his hand through his own hair, "and I do have a hard time not crossing a line with you. I need to prove to Aidan that he's my one and only."

"At the cost of the play," Richard deducted wearily. "I am sorry I did that, yet I don't think I'm lying if I tell you it would have happened eventually. I'm drawn to you, and I know you feel it too. If there wouldn't be Aidan—forgive me for saying so—there wouldn't be a problem. There is though. I don't suppose he will give us any space to let that chemistry unfold. For good reason," Richard was quick to add. "I mean, you love him. I merely mean, it would be easier if he understood that even if I'm kissing you onstage—properly kissing you—there's no threat for him."

"I need you to be honest with me, Richard," Dean stepped closer to him and turned a chair around so that they were sitting, knee to knee. "Sometimes, when you and I are doing a scene, I feel as if I'm losing time. That I get so caught up in what we're doing—and how good it feels—that I can't remember everything I've done. Only that it feels good," he confessed. "God...I—I don't know what I'm asking. I mean...are you able to," Dean scoffed at his own stupidity. "Ugh, this sounds, crazy!" he scraped the chair away suddenly and stood up. "Nevermind, Richard."

"Am I able to make that happen?" Richard was amused, now. Dean was coming close to figuring it out, though for the sake of who he was, he would keep it hidden as long as he could. "No, I can't bend your will if you don't want it, if that's what you mean. But this isn't the first time it’s happened, I have to tell you." He looked at Dean. "When Lee and I first performed together, years ago, we shared the same magnetism. It was like whatever Lee wanted would come to pass, with him just willing it. He told me it had to do with his charisma. I thought it would be convenient, especially in the business of theater, so I asked him if he wanted to tutor me. He would point out small things, and over the years they must have snuck into my behavior as well. Little things, like touching a person on the arm in a certain way if you wanted him to be amiable towards you. You know I'm drawn to you, I've told you before, but if I'm trying to charm you a little, it's nothing like that. I wouldn't do that to Aidan."

Feeling like a fool Dean turned his face away, guiltily. That had to be it, then. Richard just had advanced magnetism. And yet, Dean wasn't comforted by his answer. It didn't account for Dean losing time or feeling as if he had no control over himself. Could it be true? Did he want Richard more than he wanted Aidan? Or had he just chosen the worst possible time ever to declare his love for his friend?

"Your tricks," Dean said quietly, "your _skills_ that you picked up from Lee. They're very good. They put me at ease and they make our performance flawless. Whatever it is, you need to keep doing it while we're onstage. I don't want to disappoint Peter, or the audience. Aidan will come to understand that it's for the good of the production."

"How far is far enough?" Richard looked at both of them through the mirror. "You ask me to bypass your partner's request, which he made for a reason. Are you sure you want me to pick up where we left off? Maybe it'll be better if he doesn't come to rehearsals and performances, but what you're asking is me treading on thin ice."

Dean, physically shaking in the effort to not lose his shit, chose—for better or for worse—his answer. 

"As long as the curtain's up, we do what needs to be done."

"And when it's not, you are his and his alone. You don't make it easy on yourself. You're an honorable man, Dean, more honorable than I might have been. He's lucky to have your heart." Richard extended a hand to shake on it, yet the spark was nearly electric when their hands touched.

Dean's eyes opened wider at that. "Richard? I want you to show me."


	9. More Than All Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard and Dean come to an understanding. A well-received network television appearance doesn't sit well with a certain understudy.

The distance between Richard and Dean increased. "No. I can't do that," Richard said simply.

"You've been, by your own admission, tricking me," Dean's eyes had gone a bit darker. "You owe it to me to show me. If not on me, then on someone else. I want to see. I might even want to learn from you."

"I've been _holding back!_ "

"What are you afraid of, Richard?" Dean took a step towards him. "That I'll lose control? Overpower you? Or is it the opposite?"

Richard looked at him without understanding. "I am not afraid of that. You have a boyfriend on the other side of that door, or did you forget?"

"How could I forget?" Dean asked him. "It's all I think about. Aidan. And you. And how to do my job as best I can while making you both happy. While making everyone happy. My life has become a balancing act. I'm exhausted, Richard. It shouldn't be this hard."

Richard leaned back. He wondered. Dean did ask him to demonstrate, though Richard was loath to come between him and Aidan by compelling Dean into doing things he didn't want. He needed to view things from his partner's perspective, how much he'd hurt him, and he didn't. "What if I tried it on him?" he asked. "Aidan. What if I showed you through him?"

Dean felt an immediate pang of jealousy at the idea. But it was quickly replaced with a revelation. He needed validation that he wasn't crazy. Aidan too could benefit from understanding just what Dean had to deal with. 

"Yes," Dean nodded. "Let's call him in here. I want to see. I want _him_ to see."

Richard chuckled. "No, not like that. He doesn't very much like me yet. It'd get me a slap in the face. It takes time. If he keeps coming to rehearsals, I can make it work. I just need to know how far you're willing to let it continue. As far as we have been?"

"I know Aidan doesn't have feelings towards you, Richard—at least, not positive ones," he admitted, biting his lip in consternation. "Will it work on him, Richard?"

"I have no guarantee that it will. They are tricks, not exact sciences. You're sure then?"

"I'm as sure as I can be, I suppose," Dean confessed. "I would enjoy seeing you using your skills on someone who isn't me." Dean took a step towards the door, then he turned back. "It's because I've wanted you for so long, isn't it?"

Richard shrugged. "It makes it easier. Doesn't change what I said about chemistry though, and chemistry is a two-way matter." He wondered if Dean was truly okay with him trying to seduce Aidan. Aidan had nothing to do with any of this, up to the point where he was with Dean and collateral in his own way. Lee was going to love it, but Richard wasn't going to involve him in any way. "For today's practice, let's take it slow."

Dean nodded, "All right," he approached Richard, slipping his arms around the taller man's waist. "I really want him to like you. He may never like you as much as I do, but it would mean a great deal to me if you two could get along."

He slid closer to Richard, laying his head against the man's chest and shoulder. "Hold me like you mean it, Joseph," he whispered.

A shaking breath was Richard's response. They were blurring the lines. Sooner or later, this was going to become too much for him. Just Dean's scent was balancing him on an edge of lonely heights. Richard's arms wrapped around Dean's waist. In that second, he knew that it was him being helplessly played, and not the other way around.

They returned to the main stage with a respectable distance between them, Richard to talk to Peter, while Dean went back out to the auditorium where Aidan was frowning at his cell phone.

Aidan raised a brow—not at all at ease. "Did you patch things up?"

Dean slipped into a seat next to Aidan. "Yeah," he smiled softly, reaching over to brush an errant curl from Aidan's forehead. "I think we've figured it out."

Aidan pretended to be relieved. He wasn't a fool though. "This is easier when I'm not here, is it?"

"I'm under a lot of pressure to do well, especially since the reviews came out," Dean answered him honestly, "and while I'm very happy to have you around anytime, it's difficult for me to...well, to even pretend to be intimate with Richard. I'm holding back. So is he. And it's going to affect the production."

"I was afraid you'd say that." Aidan bit on the nail of his left thumb. "I can stop by at a set time, to lunch together or something, if you want? I mean, it's no big deal and I could just stay away, but I kind of really like visiting you here. Just not when you're on stage. That sound okay?"

Dean nodded, squeezing his thigh. "It means a lot to me that you understand, Aidan," he told him. "I believe Richard had hoped to talk with you today, before you had to go. I mean, if you don't mind."

"I suppose I need to get that over with anyway," Aidan frowned, head swiveling to where Richard was just finishing up with Peter. "I'll chat with him, then be on my way," he leaned over and gave his boyfriend a kiss on the temple. "I'll make dinner."

He caught Richard as he made his way back to Dean, unaware that Dean was watching the pair closely. "Dean mentioned you wanted to see me," he explained, lamely, "to talk?"

Richard smiled kindly. "Ah, yes I did. Well, he makes it sound so severe. It's just a chat. I realize I've been in a rather awkward situation with Dean, from your point of view, and I thought that maybe you'd like to talk about that sometime. You must have questions for me, or things to tell me."

"Just that I'm going to try to back off and let you two do your jobs." Aidan fiddled with the hem of his shirt, which would completely unravel if he wasn't careful. "I've been unreasonable and possessive. I'm sorry about that. The play can't suffer because I'm jealous."

"Aidan," Richard took him gently by his shoulders and looked at him, "that's entirely normal. I know we're actors and we pretend to be different people when we act out these things, but that doesn't make it any easier. I recognize that look. If there's anything I can do to make you worry less, please, let me know."

Aidan had to fight the rising urge to shrug out of Richard's grip. Yet, the man was saying all the right things, and his eyes were very sincere. 

"I-I'm sure everything will be fine," he heard himself saying in response. "I trust Dean. I know how he feels about me. We're all actors. It's just what we do, right?

Richard nodded. "That's right. I'm really glad you're taking it like this. I was worried, honestly." He let go, returning Aidan's personal space to him, and ran a hand through his own hair. "Either way, the offer stands. If you have anything you want to ask me or tell me not to do, I'll fix the time for you. Even if it's just getting a cup of coffee."

Aidan had done some reading about how to influence people using voice and touch. _Richard must have had some sales training somewhere along the line,_ he thought to himself. It was the only thing that could account for how easily he was able to steer conversations and charm others. Of course, being insanely good looking and smelling so very incredible played a huge part in it.

"I can't exactly tell you not to be so damn desirable to him, can I?" he found himself saying. "You can't fight your DNA, after all." Aidan wanted to crawl away and hide after blurting that out. "At any rate, I should be going. You two have work to do."

Dean watched their interaction with growing interest. Aidan's disposition had transformed with remarkable quickness from dubious to receptive. But maybe he was just trying, for Dean's sake, to be nice. But body language was always a giveaway, right?

Whatever they'd spoken about, it had clearly left Aidan in a better mood. He smiled as he approached Dean and gave him a kiss. "I'll see you tonight," he grinned, and was gone.

Dean joined Richard on stage. "Whatever you said certainly set his mind at ease," he told his co-star.

"Kind words," Richard said, and found his position on the stage to wait for Peter's cue and run through the scene. "I didn't do much. Shall we try again?"

Dean nodded, but he wasn't quite sure how he should be feeling. "Which scene?" he wondered.

"Any scene we were previously too distracted for." Richard turned to the director for a hand. Peter rummaged through the script—he knew it by heart and there was little point—until tapping on a page. "First meeting. Let me see how that goes."

Richard gathered himself and let Joseph to the surface. "Ready when you are," he said to Dean.

Dean smiled. He had always enjoyed the scene where John and Joseph first met. Joseph was a cultured man from the city, sent to teach in a small countryside school. John was a headstrong farm boy, sent back for tutoring—at age seventeen—because he was struggling to read and wasn't suited to work without the skill.

"I'm John Parker," Dean said, holding out an imaginary piece of paper to Richard. "I was told to report here at 3:30 each day until you see fit to sign this paper."

Joseph didn't turn towards him at first. His eyes were on the blackboard, pondering not on what was on it, but rather something else, something in his head. "Is that all it takes," he asked, "for me to sign your paper? Is that why you're here?"

"Well," John chuckled a bit, "that _would_ make things a hell of a lot simpler. But, you see, I left school when I was ten years old to help my dad out on the family farm. I never went back, and I never quite took to reading—at least, not very well. Now, with the war on, I went into town to try to get a job in the munitions factory. But they wouldn't take me, much as they need people, because I..." John paused, toeing an invisible line with the tip of his shoe, cap in one hand. "I need to learn how to read better. And I was told you could help me."

Joseph turned now. When he did, he halted. It was plain that he'd expected a simpleton and found a young, rather compelling man before him instead. "I can't just sign your slip of paper then. But I can help you earn it."

John, too, seemed surprised by Joseph's appearance. Granted, the man was wearing a suit in the heat of the mid-May sun, and spectacles. But it didn't detract from his handsome features. 

A lazy grin spread across John's face. "That's good, because I never do anything by halves. I'm here to learn, and I work hard and fast."

Someone had informed Joseph that he would have a few students in the afternoon. Nobody had warned him that it was only one, and that it was this man. He looked at the clock. Plenty of time. And so he gestured for John to take a seat somewhere in the room and handed him a book to check his level before they got started. "Read this aloud," he said. 

He couldn't keep his eyes off the man.

John took the primer in his hands and opened it to the first page. The first sentence was supposed to read _Mark saw the dog._ John swallowed in consternation, looking up at Richard once, twice. "M-mark was the... god?" he offered, questioningly. "H-he r-ran down..." It was painful to witness. John was dyslexic. "I'm sorry," he handed the book back to Joseph, visibly embarrassed. "I should have worked harder in school, I suppose."

Joseph considered the read sentence. He walked to the book cupboard and picked another one; this one with visibly larger text. "How about this one?" he asked. "Feel free to mask off the rest of the word with paper and slide it further while you read, if that helps." John didn't look like a mentally challenged man, although he did unfortunately read like one. Joseph kept the book closed. "Tell me something about yourself first," he said.

John looked down at the larger text, a combination of aghast and insulted. "I don't need glasses, Mr. Firestone," he replied. "I've been tested for that. I see just fine. I can see a hawk on a telephone line a mile away. I could shoot him, if I had the right gun." He sighed, putting the book aside. "I lived with my parents and little sister on a farm a few miles from here. Dad's got pretty bad arthritis in his hands and has trouble keeping up with the farm work. It's why I left school. He needed me more than I needed to know how to read. I don't know what else I can tell you. I know all the letters, I just don't understand how they go together."

"Read it," Joseph encouraged him nonetheless. "I need to see how you do. Just block any characters that get in the way and try to get it right. There is nobody here to ridicule you for anything you can or can't do, least of all me. Tell me, how were you at calculus?"

"Calculus? You mean arithmetic?" John wrinkled his nose. "I did some. I left in fourth grade, though. We were just finishing up percentage and fractions though. I never did anything fancier."

He picked up the imaginary primer with larger letters and opened it. The first sentence took up the entire first page.

"J—Jan...Jane has the ball," he read at length, and turned the page. "Here is a tack...no, a cat." He sighed in frustration. "I'm sorry. I can do math for you, if you want. If it'll help get me out of here. I'll do anything."

"I don't think I can improve your reading, I'm afraid," Joseph said. "I can try, but I don't think it'll change how you read. Am I correct in thinking you think in images rather than words?"

John's eyes got wider. "How did you know that? I've never told that to anyone."

Joseph smiled. "How about, we try to improve what we can and we can leave it at that? You most likely simply think differently. It seems to me like you can read just fine, you just need more time for it. Why do they want you to read?" He sat down opposite John. There was something about him that made Joseph keep returning to him.

"Well, it's a munitions factory," John shrugged with a smile. "There are recipes. It helps to mix the ingredients correctly. That stuff explodes, you know. But also," he leaned in as if to impart a great secret, "if I get drafted, I want to apply to be an officer. And I need to be able to read and understand the application. Can you help?"

Joseph smiled. "Well, we can focus on that. Ingredients and applications. Have you got any examples that we can work on?" 

John shook his head. "They won't let the recipes leave the building. Applications either. It's classified stuff. You don't know much about the business of war, do you?" he grinned. 

"I am not fond of war. But then, I do not believe in giving your life for a piece of land. I'd simply find a different piece of land to live on rather than risk my life for a few men who decide my fate without ever having seen me." Richard smiled. "Are you a patriot, John?"

"I suppose you could say that," John shrugged, "but I view it more as sticking up for those who cannot defend themselves. Those poor people in Russia and Germany that Hitler's persecuting, killing. It's more than I can bear. I'd allow it to incapacitate me if I thought about it for too long. No one should live in fear. Are you a married man with children, Mr. Firestone?"

"No, I'm not. Most likely I never will," Joseph said honestly. He eyed John with interest, curious for the answer of his following question. "Are you?"

John snorted and blushed. "I'm seventeen. But for what it's worth—and much to my parents' disappointment—I doubt I'll be marrying and having children. My sister's got a kid already, though, so I'm off the hook in that regard. I've never really understood how to please a woman."

"Never tried it?" Joseph asked him. They were easily crossing boundaries, but he chose to ignore for that moment that this was his pupil. "Well, it's not all that scary. But don't mind my opinion, I think there are better things than knowing how to pleasure a woman."

"I know what I like," his eyes met Joseph's in challenge, "and that's not it. I'm thinking that maybe you feel the same." 

"...I sleep with men," Joseph spoke very straightforwardly after considering the odds. "That should also tell you my resentment of war and of being in an army, surrounded by men with guns and a precarious awkwardness around those who pose a potential threat to their virtue."

John swallowed audibly. "Well, it seems we're of like mind on that subject. Good to know," he sat down on the corner of Joseph's desk. "I'm not adverse to shooting or fighting, though. Did you know that Hitler's killing homosexuals as well? That's reason enough for me to be there to help out."

Joseph looked down. "I know. It's just not all that black and white, now is it? Do you expect the German soldiers to be any different from the British? Most likely they are just as innocent as ours, cannon fodder to be used up for the sake of one man's misguided political ideals. Give me single combat with the man and I will fight him, but let me shoot ten men like myself and I see no purpose in that." He looked up and leaned forward. "We really aren't getting down to your education, are we?"

"I enjoy talking with you a lot more than I enjoy failing at reading," John admitted. "We could go for a walk, if you wanted. It's too nice a day to be stuck inside. You must be stifling hot in that suit."

Joseph laughed. "Yes, it is. I'm afraid I still haven't gotten around to finding my way in this place. I tell you what. If will let you show me the nicest places around here if you copy a few paragraphs that I quote."

"Is that your car outside?" John wondered. "We could go to the swimming hole near my farm. It's very, very private. You could quote all you like there, Mr. Firestone."

Joseph considered that. In the end, quite against his own policy, he agreed.

"Excellent!" Peter called. " _There_ it is, like you've never lost it. That was wonderful!"

Dean was grinning from ear to ear. "We're going to be all right, Richard," he told him.

\- - - - - 

They were more than all right. After those few rough days, "Friendly Fire" played to sold out houses for several weeks. Dean and Richard were interviewed by several newspapers and magazines, and photographed together often as well. Dean knew he had arrived when he and Richard were asked to appear on the Jimmy Nesbitt Show—a late night variety show.

Nesbitt put them through their paces. Halfway through the interview, he dropped the bomb.

"So," the comedian leaned forward, "rumors are flying about you two. Have you heard any of them, Richard?"

Richard canted his head and looked with confused charm at the audience. He returned nothing the wiser. "I'm aware that there is always gossip, but not any more than my previous productions, is there?" He looked at Dean. "Has anyone mentioned rumors around you?"

Dean chuckled and had the decency to blush. "I look at it this way," he looked into the camera. "Everyone in the country loves Richard Armitage... but I'm the only bloke lucky enough to get paid to do it."

The house erupted into laughter, after which Nesbitt said, "The show's sold out for months now, and no one can get a ticket now until next spring. How about you give us poor schlubs who didn't get on the bandwagon in time a little taste of what we're missing?"

"A little taste?" Dean grinned, turning to Richard and raising his eyebrows.

The audience broke into uneasy laughter.

If Richard did not want this outside the boundaries of the theater, he did not show it. He took his time considering a response, leaving the audience in suspense, before suddenly disappearing behind the look that belonged with Joseph. For added effect, he pretended he was still in the same surroundings, and poor Joseph took a double take at the bright lights and the audience. Then his eyes caught John's, and he blinked. "John! John, what are you doing here? What _is_ this place?"

"It's Heaven," Dean responded immediately. "I've been waiting for you here for such a long time," he reached for Richard's hand, squeezing it. "You've gotten older, Joseph," he observed, moving an invisible, errant hair from Richard's brow.

In the green room, Aidan frowned and said out loud to no one in particular, "Must they _do_ this?"

"Heaven looks strange," Richard looked at Jimmy, and the crowd roared with laughter. Immediately Richard whipped his head around at the audience estranged. He got up and kneeled before Dean, leaning his cheek against his knee. "John. Oh, John, and you haven't aged at all. What cruelty of life, to leave me behind like that. Is it really you?"

And just like that, the crowd was silent, waiting with baited breath. Richard chuckled and, plainly no longer Joseph, kissed Dean on the cheek. "I'm sorry," he said aloud, "Peter would have my head if we gave you guys too much. As would everyone with a ticket, I'm afraid. Though I must admit, Dean is the better actor. He makes it so easy when he's John to play a man falling in love with him."

And, just like that, the spell was broken. Dean helped Richard back to his feet. They shook hands with Jimmy as the crowd went wild.

"Don't let the ticket queues discourage you!" Dean called out over the din. "Be persistent. It's well worth the wait to see him onstage," he cocked his thumb in Richard's direction and wrapped an arm companionably around his waist.

"He gets naked," Richard quipped. "You'll want to see that." His blood was again boiling with suppressed desire that the audience knew nothing about. He continued to steal touches from Dean whenever he could. No doubt he further added fuel to the rumors, but for today Richard didn't mind. Let them think what they wanted to. It was good marketing, and it wasn't far from the truth.

Lee and Aidan met them backstage, and neither looked especially overjoyed. 

"You certainly made an impression," Lee deadpanned. "I'm surprised you two didn't go at it right there on the sofa."

"Well, we didn't," Dean reminded both of them. "But it'll certainly generate a bit more interest in the production, I hope." He pulled Aidan towards him and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for not leaving."

"Your chemistry is cloying and annoyingly contagious," Lee frowned. "I hope you know you'll never be able to work without one another ever again. Anything else will be anti-climactic."

Across town, Rob Kazinsky took a long drag and finished up his cigarette, stubbing it out in the ashtray on his coffee table. "Little shit," he muttered. "O'Gorman, your days are numbered." He turned off the television and turned to the punching bag hanging in the corner and began pummeling it furiously.


	10. Look At What You Make Me Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A jealous, unstable Rob makes his move. Richard is faced with a difficult decision.

Richard didn't appear during rehearsals the next day—Lee claimed he wasn't feeling well, but he would be sure to make it to the night's performance—forcing Dean to practice with Luke. They were comfortable around each other, but they were going through the motions to get it technically perfect rather than playing on gut feeling. It left Rob without a partner to practice John with and he was forced to read the lines from the page, going over them once again. He appeared agitated as the day wore on.

When around four in the afternoon Richard did show up, Rob intercepted him immediately. “Hi," he said, "feeling better?"

Richard shrugged. "I was just tired."

"You didn't bring Lee?"

"He does have a life besides managing that of mine," Richard commented.

"Yet he is here every day," Rob pointed out.

Richard sighed. "What do you want, Rob?"

The other man nodded to himself. Straight to business then. "Yes, well, Dean has been practicing with Luke all day due to your absence, and I haven't gotten any practice in myself. I was wondering if you were available. We haven't practiced all that much together. What if Dean fell ill? We'd have to at least practice a few times together to get it right."

"You make a fair point, Rob," Richard agreed. "Anything could happen, and we should be prepared."

They ran a few scenes, but Richard wasn't at ease. Rob was significantly taller than Dean—only an inch or two shorter than Richard—and more solid and ungainly in his arms. Rob tried to steer all their physical movements, where Dean simply let Richard take the lead when they blocked in the scenes. Rob sneered and kept shooting glances at where Dean and Luke were working. 

Richard didn't like him. He was a truly beautiful man with a voice as clear as a bell, but he felt like trouble. 

"I think that's enough," Richard said after an hour or so. "We'll just have to trust that, should we wind up onstage together, things fall into place. You seem competent enough."

Rob scoffed. "Yes, I'm competent enough, Richard. Shouldn't we practice at least one kiss? We haven't even discovered if we have any chemistry yet."

_We haven't._

Richard looked at Dean and Luke. They didn't have a lot of chemistry either, but there was friendship there, a will to make it work, whereas towards Rob, Richard felt only an inexplicable aversion. If only Lee had taken to intentionally bothering Rob instead of going overboard in his physical appreciation of Aidan.

"Sorry Rob, I really need to go over some final things with Dean." Richard shook his hand and walked away, gesturing for Dean to follow him to his dressing room.

Rob's eyes followed the pair, hooded with resentment, until they were out of sight.

Dean looked relieved. "I'm so glad you made it, Richard. I was worried about you. I hope everything's okay."

"I was just tired." Hands cradled Dean's face before Richard pulled himself together. He still looked slightly feverish. "I'm going to try tonight, but I want you to know that you might have to improvise a little."

Dean's blue eyes studied Richard's face carefully, and he extended a hand to feel Richard's forehead. "What is it, Richard? What's wrong with you?" Dread coiled in Dean's stomach. As much as he liked the man, wasn't really ready to run certain scenes with Luke.

Richard took a deep breath. "Sometimes I don't know why I go to such lengths to honor your relationship," he whispered. "Do you know how difficult it is for me? I know you want it too, Dean. Why don't we?"

Dean's hand trembled on Richard's arm. "Why don't we _what,_ Richard? Cheat on our partners? You want me to say I feel nothing for you? I'd be lying. What you and I create on stage... it's incredible. We are so lucky to have the chemistry that we do. But does that mean that you and I are John and Joseph? That we belong together?" 

"What I feel has nothing to do with Joseph, and what I have with Lee does not even come close to a relationship," Richard nearly pleaded. "In fact, if I told him, he would simply ask to be included once in a while. I respect Aidan, but aren't we continually pretending to be nothing for his sake? Is that fair to him?"

"Richard," Dean's face grew pale. "I am very fond of you. I admire your gifts and talents. And yes, I am very, _very_ aroused in your presence. But I do not know you well enough to say that I love you. I love _Aidan,_ " he whispered. And yet his hand tightened on Richard's arm. 

"But you are not a monogamous man," said Richard in return. "I know it when I see it. You barely got together until you already let your eyes stray to me. It usually takes a few months at least." His skin was warming up and he touched Dean's cheek again. "But because he got to you first, he gets the moral advantage. I'm right, am I not?"

Dean bit his lip and looked away. "You don't know me," he said quietly. "You'd like to think you do, but you don't."

Outside the room, Rob drummed his fingers against the wall. No wonder they had such chemistry. They were in love.

Richard sighed. He took a step back, pinched his nose. It was useless. He knew what he wanted and he was not a fool—Dean wanted it too. Richard did not proclaim to know much, but he was sure about that. "Very well," Richard conceded matter-of-factly, not revealing the effect that the constant rejection was having on him, "you love him and nobody else. I will stop asking you. Sorry."

"If I had met you before Aidan and I pledged ourselves to one another..." Dean sat down on Richard's couch, "this wouldn't be an issue. I'd give you more than a shot, Richard. But you know what scares me? The idea that if we truly were intimate, that we'd lose the onstage sexual tension that we have now. It would be so easy to give into you, you have no idea."

"You're right." Richard didn't believe in that, himself. Dean made it sound like some sort of forbidden fruit, and he was partly right. But Richard knew himself well enough to know that it wasn't all. Forbidden fruits he could deal with; it was the desire to hold him and have him that had nothing to do with Aidan's presence. He looked down. "I'll see you on the stage tonight, then." It was a silent dismissal.

Dean got up and went to the door. He realized he'd reached a point of no return. A hungry, hedonistic part of him wanted to turn the lock and let Richard do whatever he wanted to him. Another part could see the disappointment on Aidan's face. He couldn't bear to lose Aidan. The choice was simple.

He opened the door and stepped briskly outside, nearly plowing over Rob who'd been spying on the conversation. 

"You should just fuck him," Rob said simply, a cockeyed grin on his face. "You have no idea how lucky you are, Dean."

"I know _exactly_ how lucky I am, Rob," Dean corrected him, and slipped into his own dressing room, latching the door before anyone could see him cry.

Rob crept up to the door. "Who knows how much longer you'll have the chance?" he said loudly enough for the words to reach Dean, and left before anyone else could find him there. It was a good thing too, because seconds later Richard walked into the corridor. He frowned at Rob's presence.

The performance that night was laced with more tension than had been between Richard and Dean before. The audience ate them up, but Richard couldn't wait for the love scene to be over with. He sported an embarrassingly visible erection in the scene that followed it.

Richard left quickly after the curtain closed, allowing nobody to delay him and leaving Dean without his usual escort to the nearest Tube station.

Dean's head was filled with what-ifs as he walked along, hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket against the breeze. _What if I had taken Richard up on his offer?_ he wondered. _What if after all this Aidan decides he can't trust me?_

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. He needed to hear Aidan's voice. Even the ringing soothed him.

Aidan picked up on the third. He sounded sleepy, his words mumbled. He had probably been in bed early. "Dean?"

"Hi, gorgeous," Dean said. "I'm sorry if I woke you. I just... well, I wanted to hear your voice, Aid."

"Oh." Aidan smiled. "Hey. How was the show? Are you on your way home now?" He rolled onto his back on Dean's bed, and Dean could hear the springs through the phone. "Want me to wait up for you?"

"Not if you're tired, love," Dean felt tears coming to his eyes. "I just ... well, tonight was rough, and I needed to talk to you. Aidan, I love you. Thanks for putting up with all this. It's going to be worth it. I promise."

"...I know." As soon as the play would end. Not, Aidan thought to himself, that that would happen any time soon. It was a big hit. "I'll stay up. Just come home to me, I'll wait." He didn't want to know what Dean had meant by the night being rough. "I love you, babe. Where are you now?"

"I'm nearly at the Tube," Dean told him, quickening his pace. "It's freezing out. Wish you were here to warm me up."

"Mmh, I'm here for you. Your bed is nice and warm. Come join me." Aidan was half falling asleep again. "I'll see you at home?"

"Thank you, Aidan. For loving me," Dean said quietly, as if he were speaking directly into Aidan's ear, laying next to him. "I'll be home in twenty minutes." He pushed the end call button and slid his phone into his back pocket. 

The streets were empty when he looked up. Normally Richard was walking with him, and he hadn't paid attention to his surroundings before. This night, it was like all of London was elsewhere. It wasn't a narrow street he was walking and it was foolish, really, but there were footsteps behind him suddenly, and they were close.

Dean wasn't a big guy; that much was true. And his size often made him a target for potential muggers. Seeing as how he was only about twenty meters from the stairwell down into the Tube however, he kept walking, head down, hoping the footsteps belonged to just another passenger.

But they were far too close behind him, and moving too quickly. 

As much as Dean tried to shut out the other presence, it left him vulnerable when he was suddenly swept off his feet and dragged off course. The entrance to the Tube fell further away from him, and the dark of an alley wrapped itself like a blanket around his vision. There was nobody on the streets—nobody who had seen. Even if anyone was present, a hand over his mouth prevented him from screaming.

"I've had it with you," a voice hissed. "I gave you a chance. You should have taken it. Now look at what you make me do."

Dean thought he recognized the voice, but was too panicked to place it. Instead, he raised his foot and stomped down hard on the instep of his assailant's right foot. He aimed an elbow back into his solar plexus. When the grip around his waist loosened in reaction, Dean moved to pull away, taking in a deep breath so he could yell for help.

He was given only a second, but nobody heard him when Dean's balance shifted and he toppled to the asphalt. A familiar face appeared in his vision, hidden behind a scarf pulled up over the lower part of his face and a drawn hood. 

The frame gave it away. 

Rob trapped Dean on the unforgiving stone beneath a knee to the chest. He reached for his pocket and flicked his wrist. The glint of a switchblade knife shone in what passed for moonlight, and cool was the touch of metal against his cheek. "Tsk tsk," Rob shook his head. "I did warn you to let me. Now you force me to take it."

"Take it?" Dean gasped. "R-Rob, what are you doing? Think about this. This isn't something you can ever come back from. J-just drop this now and walk away, and I'd be willing to pretend this never happened." 

"You'd be _willing_? You were never willing before! Oh, yes, when it comes to Richard, that's when you're willing, but not to share. Never to share. I'd let you walk tonight and you'd tell them." Rob shook his head, digging the metal a little more against skin. When it yielded under the pressure and Dean grunted in pain, he pulled the blade back and watched with parted lips. "I have considered this long and hard. Now that I'm here, don't you get that I know I've crossed the point of no return? Oh Dean... Dean, you should have done so many things differently. To think you have a boyfriend at home. You are so lucky he doesn't know what you do on that stage opposite Richard."

"I've been faithful to Aidan!" Dean cried in his defense. "Whatever you think you've seen or heard, it's _acting,_ Rob. Now, let me up," he insisted. "This isn't funny! We can figure out a way to get you to work with Richard. I'll call off sick..."

The knife returned, tracing Dean's jaw now. "Oh, no no no. You're a good liar, Dean, you'll say just about anything if it means you get to continue with what you're doing. I'll be doing more people a favor than just myself, don't you see? A lesson in humility, that's what you need." Rob leaned in. "I know your weak spot. That pretty face of yours. It's got everyone wrapped around your finger. So let's get started on that, shall we?"

The sting of metal was more prominent now, tentatively tracing a path from Dean's ear down to his chin. Rob casually flicked the blade up. It caught on Dean's lip and, without even intending it, hooked at the curve. The whetted blade got clean through. Dean whimpered and Rob gasped. "Oh, now that's more like it. Do you think they'll want you as the lead when you can't speak?"

Dean let out a frightened gasp. He could not scream. His heart was hammering under the pressure of Rob's knee. He felt the ribs wanting to give way, cutting off his breath. The pain on his lacerated skin was white hot. "R-Rob...p-please," he begged. "Don't..."

He didn't want to die—not like this, on his back in a dirty alleyway. But Rob was crazy. Rob was going to disfigure him, kill him. 

_I have so much more I want to do,_ Dean thought, in that moment.

Then, Rob's blade descended.

\- - - - -

Fifty minutes after the first phone call, Aidan did not get a reply when he called again to check what was keeping Dean. He had fallen asleep and woken, but found the bed next to him empty and cold. A quick inspection of the apartment also showed that nobody had passed out on the couch. He rang again. Nothing.

Ten minutes later, Aidan didn't know what to do and nervously browsed through receipts in his wallets. Lee had given him his business card once, and Lee could get to Richard. Aidan didn't want to consider why that was logical in his mind. He just knew that there were no reports of a malfunction in the Underground and it couldn't be a defect car.

"Hi! Lee? I'm so sorry about the hour. Is Richard with you?"

"Well, this is an unexpected pleasure, given the time." Aidan could hear the wolfish grin in his voice. "Yes, Richard's right here with me. Shall I hand him the phone?"

A short, muffled conversation followed, after which, Richard's voice came on the line. "Aidan? It's after midnight. Is everything all right?"

That Richard was there didn't make Aidan feel better about it. "Dean called," he said. "An hour ago. Said he'd be back in twenty, but he's not here. I thought that maybe he was with you. Is he there?" He sat on the couch, wearing only shorts and a ratty shirt, and ignored the cold. "I can't reach him on the phone. Maybe it's just got a dead battery; maybe I'm making a fool of myself."

Richard went back over the events of the evening in his mind. He'd left the theater quickly. He hadn't even removed most of his make-up and he was out the door. Dean had spurned him. He hadn't felt like walking Dean to the Tube as he normally did; he was certain he'd have others—Adam, perhaps—to walk with.

And yet.

"No," he heard himself say. "I left early tonight—right after the show. We didn't have a chance to talk. I don't live far from the theater. Would you like me and Lee to go look for him?"

A silence reigned in the living room. Aidan stared at the TV screen—the only thing decent in the flat—and found his reflection staring back at him. "...I don't know. It would make me feel better, but I can't exactly ask you, now can I? Which route does he take? I can go for myself." Still no sound outside the front door, nor movement in the street below. Something was not right.

"Lee and I will go," Richard assured him. "We're close and I know every inch of the street between the theater and the Tube. There's safety in numbers. Stay by the phone, Aidan. We'll call you as soon as we find him. We'll call you regardless. All right?"  
Aidan nodded to the phone. "Thank you. I'm sorry."

The line was disconnected, and he was alone in the apartment again. Minutes ticked by like they were hours. Aidan couldn't do anything. Maybe that was what was worst. And if something was wrong, then it would be Richard coming to the rescue. Aidan would just sit here.

Richard slipped into his coat quickly. He handed Lee his own on the way out. "What do you think?" he asked. "You generally have a good sense about these things. You think something's wrong?"

"My first inclination is that he's hooked up with someone," Lee's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, "but that someone would be you. Yet here you are, with me. Maybe he's getting drunk somewhere. Doesn't seem like the type, though," Lee shrugged, and picked up his car keys. "Come. We'll start at the Tube station and work our way back to the theater."

It was a weeknight and the streets near the theater were nearly empty. "Do you want to split up?"

"We had an argument. We should check the pubs, just in case." What if Dean was reconsidering it all? Was that why he hadn't come home to Aidan? Richard found it all too coincidental, right after their confrontation.

The pair didn't have far to go to find what they were looking for. They'd parked at the Tube station and started backtracking towards the theater. Lee's eyes, when they passed by the first alley on the right, caught sight of a sneakered foot. 

"Richard..." his voice held a note of warning. "I-I think..."

Richard was next to him in a second. He stepped back however as soon as the scent of blood assailed him. "Oh, no. Lee, that's not him, is it? That's not him." The metallic tang was too overwhelming to make out the finer notes that were Dean, and Richard refused to step any closer.

When a soft whimper reached their ears and the foot jerked spasmodically, Lee stepped forward. "Richard," he whispered. "Oh my god... bring your phone. We'll need the light. It's him."

Even in the dim alleyway, lit only a streetlight half a block away, Richard could recognize Dean's jacket. He lay on his back, his face turned away from them.

Lee reached for Dean's neck to feel for a pulse. It was there, but far threadier than it should have been. "He's alive," he told Richard. "But..."

He reached for Dean's chin, turning his face to the light, and gasped. The entire right side of Dean's face was covered with deep, haphazard slashes. One of the cuts went directly across his eye, and, much to their dismay, right through. The eye was lost. 

Dean's other eye, barely open, tried to focus on them. "H-help me," he whispered, but his voice was muffled and hard to understand. He was shivering from the cold, clearly in shock.

When Richard flipped on the flashlight of his phone, defensive cuts could be seen on Dean's hands, slashes across his chest, and one across his throat, which had come only centimeters from severing his jugular. Despite the missed vein, the alley was soaked in Dean's blood. 

"Who did this, Dean?" Lee asked. "Who hurt you?" He leaned over the injured man, hoping for an answer.

Dean's trembling hand sought out Lee's. "Rob," he whispered.

Lee was on his feet with supernatural speed. "Get him home to our place," he commanded Richard, handing him the keys to his car. "I'm going to talk to Kazinsky. Be sure to pick up his tongue. Rob cut it out and left it over there."

He was gone before Richard could react.

Richard was left with the carnage. His eyes were wide and his hands trying to stop bleeding, to touch a cut but pulling away before he could get there. He hadn't seen a man so morbidly disfigured in a long while. It was worse that this was Dean. He didn't know whether he could still move him—the man who had been his fascination for months was barely clinging onto life, although he clearly wanted to.

With great care Richard gathered him in surprisingly strong arms. "Oh god," he whispered, "why this?" He was silent during the ride home. Blood stained the front seat. He didn't care. Nobody saw them as Richard carried Dean up the steps to his townhouse, and it was a good thing too. He didn't need anyone accusing him of the attempted murder of this man—an attempt that was well on its way toward becoming a true murder.

Dean was put in Richard's bed, and the light dimmed. Richard sat next to him. He was at a loss. "Oh, Dean. I... I can help you, I can, but would you like the cost of living or would you hate me for it?" He wanted to ask so much, yet Dean was practically a mute, and without much strength left in him. There was no time for this talk. "Should I? You'd be cut off from your family. You'll not be with Aidan after I do this. You can't be."

Dean, in his fading consciousness, couldn't figure out why Richard hadn't taken him to hospital. But then, it became abundantly clear. 

_He was going to die._

He was so cold and couldn't stop shaking. It _hurt_. Everything hurt. Rob had mutilated him. He'd never work again—never talk again. He'd be ugly, disfigured.

Death would be a reprieve.

His fingers twitched, closing around Richard's. 

"D-don't want to live like this," he said, slowly, hoping Richard would understand. "Help me die, Richard."

The other man cast his eyes down. He didn't want him to die. "Dean," said he with a sad but suddenly formal voice, a lump in his throat, "I can offer you life. I can offer for these wounds to heal, for you to be _repaired_. But you'd become... unnatural. Like me. Like Lee. Aidan could never know. You would outlive him, and you would outlive your family. I don't want to lose you. Not like this. I could have accepted old age, but this monstrosity... not like this. Are you certain you choose death?"

Dean surely had to have been hallucinating. And yet perhaps Richard was telling him something only now that he'd truly known all along. "W-what are you?" he asked, feeling his grip on consciousness slipping. 

The answer was interrupted as Lee poked his head into the room. "I've brought Kazinsky. He's unconscious on the dining room table," he told Richard. 

Dean whimpered. "What _are_ you?"

The irony of Rob's location would have elicited a laugh from Richard, if he still had joy left in his mind. Now, he didn't even turn to acknowledge Lee. 

"You know what we are. It's not an easy life, and I can't promise you happiness except for that which you make of it yourself, but I can offer you life. It's yours to take it." Even now Richard hated the classification, the stigmata of the word. He wasn't a creature of the dark, he didn't go around in capes or sparkling skin or have a weakness for garlic or stakes, and he most assuredly had a pulse. "Yes or no. Just a nod or a shake." 

Richard hoped that it would be a nod.


	11. He's My Brother Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean begins to change. The National Theatre is mysteriously forced to close for a bit. Lee goes to see Aidan, who suddenly gets good news. Rob wakes up in hostile territory.

Dean was dying. He could literally feel the life and light bleeding out of him. He was scared. He had never been more scared than this. And he certainly wasn't ready. He didn't want to die. And Rob was here? He trembled, cold hand barely closing around Richard's.

Richard's face, and the space around it, was growing smaller and smaller. Dean's breath hitched and he could smell cookies baking in his mother's kitchen. He felt distanced from the pain; from everything. This was how it felt then, to die? It wasn't so bad. Wasn't so—

But... Aidan. He couldn't bear to leave him. He _wouldn't_ leave him. 

The last thing he remembered was nodding, but maybe he hadn't even properly managed that.

A darkness came over Dean. Numbness first, but then a sharp pain that all too soon ebbed away into the same numbness. Dean had experimented a little with drugs at university. This was oddly similar. Hands appeared to wrap around his shoulders and then his entire body, numerous hands, along with a drowning cold.

He was in agony for hours. And Richard… Richard sat at the other end of the room with his chest rising and falling, paralyzed by what dying and being reborn did with the young actor's body. Every fiber in his body was being repositioned, improved. Lee held him there firmly. It was a good thing too, for Richard longed to be there with Dean, if not to hold him while he convulsed, then to take another taste of his warm blood.

When at last Lee ordered him out of the room, Richard stumbled across the insensate figure of Rob on the table.

There he lay, looking painfully innocent.

"Don't do it," Lee said behind him. "He's not for you."

"I know."

"Give it time. You know this can take days, and longer for his wounds. He will live at least." Lee leaned his chin on Richard's shoulder. "You never planned to make him like us, did you? I can sense it in you. Rob will pay, Richard."

"Days from now!"

"And only shortly, yes. I'd rather he pay though. He was crafty, I give him that, but one would not even toy with an animal like that."

"...Oh. Aidan."

"...Ah. Aidan." Lee sat on the table in front of Rob. 

"What do we do about Aidan?"

"You promised to call him," Lee reminded. "He is probably worried sick. What are you going to tell him?"

"What _do_ I tell him? That his boyfriend is dead?"

Lee got up and moved to the credenza against the wall, opening a drawer. He pulled out a small black leather case, which held a syringe and a few vials of clear liquid. With expert precision, he filled the syringe and sank it into Rob's neck. Then he turned to Richard.

"Maybe you need to talk with Aidan _personally,_ " he said, words rife with meaning. 

"You mean compel him," Richard said back in distaste. "I can't tell him he's dead. He will want to see him. And I'm not going to come up with a lie. The best I can do is convince him that Dean has left him." The longer he thought about that, the better it sounded. "He'll be angry. It's better than knowing the truth. But I can't be the one to tell him. I mean, he will know it's because of me."

Overnight, things had become a lot more complicated. Richard was covered in another man's blood, and he had done what he had once vowed never to do again. "Will you tell him?" he asked. "Look at me. I can't tell him like this."

"I like Aidan," Lee said firmly. "I like him a lot. Do you think maybe we could..."

Richard gave him a sharp look. "No!" But he soon looked away to the door behind which Dean lay. They could hear his agonizing throes from where they stood. "Not tonight. And not while Dean hasn't let him go." Lee would have a hard time as it was, telling Dean that he himself could see Aidan just fine while Dean himself could not— _should_ not. "Just tell him he is leaving, preferably to some place where Aidan can't come after him."

"You're crazy if you think we can keep them apart, Richard," Lee told him. "Why not tell Aidan the truth?"

"Because there are rules! You're serious? Would you have told him before tonight?" It was an intriguing thought. Richard, selfish though he was about Dean, knew it would break Dean's heart if he lost Aidan, and he didn't want to feed Aidan a lie.

But then again, Richard and Dean, they would continue their indecision. Richard took a deep breath. He breathed in the scent of blood. "I'm going to get a shower. Tell him that we found him injured and he doesn't want Aidan to see him like this, so he'll be staying at my place for a few days. We'll see how we deal with it after that."

Lee's eyes followed Richard until he entered the bathroom and shut the door. He put on his jacket and picked up his car keys, which still had traces of Dean's blood on them.

"I have a few messes to clean up," he said to himself, then opened the bedroom door to check on Dean. The blond seemed to be resting quietly for the moment, but he was deeply unconscious. Lee leaned over and gave him a kiss on his newly-healed cheek. "It'll all be okay soon, little brother," he whispered. "Soon you'll feel ever so much better."

Lee's first stop was the National Theatre. Doors and windows had never posed problem for Lee—even before his transformation. He needed to find a way to close down the production for a while. A natural disaster would do quite nicely. He found the security office and switched on the theater's sprinkler system, turning off the alarm that summoned the fire department. It wouldn't be long before the auditorium, stage and equipment were soaked.

Afterwards, he drove directly to the tiny apartment that Dean and Aidan shared, grimacing at the state of the neighborhood. "How _do_ you two live like this?" he asked out loud as he rang the doorbell, then knocked softly on the door.

Aidan was there in a heartbeat. He fully expected for the man outside to be Dean, having lost his keys or his wallet—otherwise he would have just come in, but that was mostly wishful thinking—and he stilled when it was Lee. Just Lee, no Richard. Forgetting to invite him in, Aidan was rigid with nerves. "Lee. Did you find him?"

"We did," Lee said, with uncharacteristic gentleness. "May I come in? I'll tell you all about it."

Aidan looked him up and down. He was suddenly fearful. "Something happened, didn't it? Don't you fucking dare tell me to sit down for this."

Lee reached out and put a steadying hand on Aidan's upper arm. "We found him in an alley near the Tube station. He'd been," Lee carefully went over his word choices— _knifed, mutilated, left for dead_ "mugged. Someone beat him pretty badly and stole his wallet and phone. He's awake and he's going to be all right," he said gently. "But he needs a few days of rest."

Aidan's weight faintly fell against the doorframe. He had no heart to invite Lee in. Dean was out there, and he needed to see him. "Is he in hospital? Can I go to him?" He ran a hand through his hair. His eyes were wide with worry. "Oh god. He called me just before he got to the station. How...where did you find him?"

Lee's eyes met Aidan's. "An alley. He was in an alley. He's just shaken up, Aidan," he told him, which was certainly the truth, "but I promise you, he'll be okay. More than okay. Can I come in? Sit with you?"

"I—yeah. Sure."

Aidan followed him into the living room. He wasn't aware of the mess, but he didn't care if Lee took offense. There would be no sleep for him tonight. "Is Richard with him? Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"I don't need anything, Aidan," Lee said. "I just came to make sure you were okay. Now, come sit," he directed Aidan to the sofa. He picked up the blanket and put it over Aidan's lap, as the man was still in his shorts and t-shirt. 

"Dean _is_ all right," Lee assured him. "We're sorry it took so long for us to let you know." Lee did regret it. Already the first light of dawn was peeking into the apartment. "Dean wanted me to come see you personally and check on your welfare. He's resting, and yes, Richard is with him. He's safe."

Being alone with Richard didn't make Aidan feel better. "Can I talk with him tomorrow? The idea that someone hurt him...I can't imagine why someone would want to. And for what? He hardly carries money and his phone is a couple of years old. Do you know who did it? CCTV?"

"There was a camera, but Dean said his assailant was wearing a mask and a hood," Lee told him. "As to why, who knows? Maybe they knew that he was in the show, and thought he might be bringing home a big paycheck. At any rate, yes, of course you can see him very, very soon. You must be exhausted, Aidan. You look a fright. You should try to get some sleep."

The response was a shrill laugh. "I can't rest when I know he's currently recovering from some asshole attacking him! Not until I see him and I know it'll be all right."

"Aidan," Lee lowered his arm over Aidan's shoulder, gently encouraging him to turn his head Lee's way. When he did, Lee locked eyes with him. "You are going to sleep. We're going to walk to your room and you're going to slip under the covers and go to sleep. You'll wake up refreshed and go to rehearsal like you normally do, and you won't worry about Dean during that time."

Lee's voice was soothing, and while Aidan had not intended to give in before he knew Dean was all right, the words spoke of logic. "Yes, okay," he found himself saying, and ended up allowing Lee to walk him to Dean's bed. The place looked like it had been turned over, though Aidan didn't notice. He fell asleep easily, ignoring that he was supposed to be showing Lee to the door first.

Lee sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the blankets up around Aidan. Aidan seemed a little befuddled, but it was obvious that the compulsion was having the desired effect. Perhaps here, surrounded by the smell of Dean, he'd sleep more soundly. 

And he did. Lee stayed close by with the lamp low and talked to him soothingly, running a hand through Aidan's hair, like he'd wanted to since he met the man. When Aidan dozed off, which didn't take long, Lee found himself cleaning up the room. He had to help keep up the ruse that things were normal. 

Everything _would_ be all right.

If he said it enough, and thought it enough, eventually it would be true.

\- - - - -

A splinter throbbed in the flesh of his palm. He cringed and tried to reach for it with his other hand, only to come up short. Sleepy and sporting the start of a massive headache, Rob frowned. He opened his eyes. His hands were tied. He was several feet above the floor when he rolled onto his side. The surface of the table wasn't rough enough to warrant the splinter though, so it had to have come from elsewhere. Where was he, anyway?

"Hello?" his voice cracked. He could recall having his knife clasped in one hand, drawing line after line deep into flesh. He’d left Dean to die, his face a bloody mess.

He was nearly back at his apartment, ready to clean himself up, when he heard footsteps rushing up behind him. He hadn't been able to turn before things went black. "Hel—" As soon as some sense returned to him, Rob cut himself short. This was hostile terrain. He had to find a way out, not attract attention to himself.

"Ah," said a voice Rob immediately recognized as Lee's. The aloof man entered the room. "Our guest has awakened. You've been on the dining room table for twenty four hours. It's put a bit of a kink in our eating habits. But then again," he smiled, "it's added some kinks we'd forgotten we'd had."

Lee walked to the credenza and drew out the small black case. "You were brought here for dinner, but it's not quite time yet. And I don't have the desire, or the patience to babysit you. So," he drew out a hypodermic filled with clear fluid, "back to sleep you shall go, Mr. Kazinsky."

Rob struggled away immediately. It only earned him falling off the table and painfully on the floor, where he cried out and tried to get a footing. He failed. Rob hissed. "Get away!" He managed to get his feet between him and Lee in time and kicked hard at his ankle, then loudly started shouting for help.

"My home's fairly soundproof, you'll find," Richard told him, entering from the room's other door. "But we do have the man you injured to think about—he's resting comfortably by the way, thank you for asking—so please, keep your voice down. I'd hate to have to use force on you, Rob."

"Dean?" Rob gaped at Lee, before snorting. "Right, like you'll be able to make much of him. He's done for, and you know it. If he's still alive, there's nothing more you can do but put him out of his misery."

Lee chuckled darkly. "I'm sorry to say, Mr. Kazinsky, that the only misery we shall be ending is yours. Hold him, Richard."

Richard took a step towards Rob, who feigned left. With inhuman speed, Richard caught him easily, bending him forward over the table. Rob howled in consternation. "What a shame, Rob," he said coolly. "You had such potential. But we still may find a use for you yet."

Lee sank the needle into Rob's bicep at that point, and Richard held the man steady until the drug took effect. "He's good for another twenty four hours or so," Lee advised. "But can we maybe put him in a closet or something?"

Richard nodded, his contempt for Rob unhidden. He grabbed the unconscious actor by his collar and dragged him away down the hall. "I'll lock him in the extra bedroom."

"Bathtub," Lee corrected, "the thought of that man being comfortable in his last days makes me sick." He returned to the master bedroom to check up on Dean. His plan had worked, and nobody wondered why neither of them weren’t at work—the theater had to be closed indefinitely due to his little prank. Lee knew how damage management went, and a week was far too optimistic. They were practically on paid leave, which gave him the time to arrange for a formal letter of resignation for Rob, some story for anyone who might care for his whereabouts, and for Dean to get better.

The wounds were slowly healing. It was always a sight, to see a turned man come into his own, especially when the damage was this extensive. His body would get rid of bad cells at an accelerated rate, which was often accompanied by a stench that Lee had come to associate with the process of purification. They were still biological though, and while the flesh remembered what it was supposed to be like and slowly regenerated that which was not according to its grand design, the wounds were already no longer ugly gashes, and Dean's tongue—Lee could only imagine how much that had to hurt—was nearly regrown.

He paused when he saw a muscle twitch.

Dean's left hand opened and closed slowly and reflexively. "A-Aidan?" Lee heard the blond ask. "H-hurts."

Dean felt lethargic and couldn't open his eyes. The lethargy, thankfully, helped mask most of the pain. His skin felt as if it were crawling with insects. Every smell was magnified and he felt on the verge of being sick.

At last he was able to crack open his eyes— _both_ eyes—to see the outline of Lee standing next to the bed.

"'m not dead," he told Lee, voice weak. "That must disappoint you."

Lee chuckled and sat down next to him. "Why should it disappoint me, young one? On the contrary, I'm glad to see you recovering well. You weren't in a good state when Richard brought you in." He gently moved a hand to brush Dean's hairline, but retreated it when it caused obvious discomfort. "It will get better soon. And then we can discuss what to do with Aidan. In the mean time, I'm sure you're craving water." 

"Yes," Dean admitted, "yes, please." He'd nearly fallen back to sleep by the time Lee reappeared and helped him drink from the bottle. He felt as weak as a newborn kitten, and he could smell himself—he smelled horrible, sick. "You and Richard," he said, as the water rushed to the far reaches of his battered body, "you saved me. Thank you, Lee." 

He had fallen back to sleep before his head hit the pillow.

"He's talking," Lee smiled softly, sitting down next to Richard on the sofa. He handed him a cup of hot soup. "It's amazing, watching him repair himself. Was it like that when I turned?"

Richard smiled warmly like they weren't sheltering two bodies in their house. He kissed Lee's temple. "You weren't as bad as he is, and you were ravenous when you woke. Nothing could stand in your way. Times were different then. Dean's situation will be different. You are taking to him, aren't you?"

"I like him, Richard. How could I not? He was never afraid of me. He never even thought to be." Lee shrugged. "And he's my brother now. It's a moot point."

Lee was quiet for a few moments, staring pensively into the fireplace as the logs shifted. "His eyes are bluer now. More like sapphire gems than before. I would have never thought he'd ever fit in among us, but I have a feeling he'll take to it quite well."

"I hope so." Richard took a deep breath before he got up. "I should get some sustenance. There won't be time for it later, and bringing him here covered in blood hasn't been easy. Will you stay here?" He considered something. "Aidan doesn't know where I live, does he?"

"He was here once," Lee smiled. "He might remember the way. But I'm pretty sure he won't pester us for a few days, at least."

Lee was more than sure, in fact. Aidan, he knew for certain, would be kept busy enough. Lee had searched Aidan and Dean's apartment for information about the play Aidan was in. On the way home, he'd stopped by the apartment of the man with the leading role. He'd compelled him to quit the show and consider moving to Wales. It was only a matter of time before Aidan would be the star of the play.

"He's going to have his hands full at work," Lee followed up with a smile.

"You have been up to something, haven't you?"

Throwing a knowing look at his partner—for lack of a better word—Richard swung his coat over his shoulders, about to be off to the market. "Want me to get something for Rob too? Wouldn't want him to get low sugar when he wakes up."

\- - - - -

Richard didn't tell Lee that he had planned on seeing Aidan to check up on him. Here, up in the highest shadowed corner of the empty auditorium, nobody saw him as he watched Aidan take his first proper steps rehearsing with his costar. Both Aidan and Dean had gotten themselves a role that required them to die onstage, but in this particular role Aidan's character was merry and intelligent, bending the world to his view. His onstage brother was his polar opposite and his nemesis. There was no trace of worry between scenes.

Orlando Bloom chuckled and threw a few feigned, affectionate punches in Aidan's direction. "You're doing so _well,_ " he told his new co-star. "Like you were born to it. It's obvious you've been working hard, out of the spotlight. Can you believe Andy just up and quit like that?"

"I know!" Aidan laughed. "Honestly, they rang me up this morning and I thought, _it's a prank call._ " He had never thought to be here and, considering Andy hadn't broken a leg, he doubted it had anything to do with people interfering. He wiped a towel down his neck and took a swig from a water bottle. The stage lights were murderous. "Half of what I'm doing here is you though. I mean, you two were really synced. I was wondering though," and he sat down, reached for the script, "this piece here, what do you say if we tried it differently? Just to try it out."

Orlando wrinkled his forehead when he realized what passage Aidan was pointing to. "It's a fight, Aidan. Not too many different ways to play it. They're brothers and they love and hate one another in equal measures. What do you suggest?"

"Yes, but that's the thing. You are more forward, and I don't want to fight. It's a very balanced scene, but maybe Daniel needs the upper hand. Eli is a pacifist." He hopped to his feet and walked to one end of the stage. "If Eli gets cornered all the way here, and tries to come back but is pressed back again and again, you could use all of the stage. And we've got the edge of the stage to work with. Like we're literally balancing on the edge." Aidan's eyes sparkled as he spoke. He shortly tried to humble his enthusiasm by adding, "It's just a thought, of course."

"Do you know how easy it would be to fall over that edge?" Orland grinned, toeing the edge of the stage with both sneakered feet. "I don't relish a concussion from hitting my head on a theater chair. But I like how you think. Let's try it, now, with the lights in our eyes, and see how feasible it is."

Ten minutes later, Orlando had been convinced. "You have the makings of a great director in you, Aidan," he clapped him on the back. "Let's do it this way tonight. If we seem uncertain or screw it up, the fight will look all the more authentic. I'm really looking forward to it."

They took to each other like fish to water. Aidan did his best and proposed several ideas casually over a beer in the bar that afternoon, making sure he sounded like he had considered the role from different angles instead of wanting to take over the ship entirely. Some people in the audience would feel cheated when they realized they were watching the understudy, but with every part that went smoothly, Aidan started to be more convinced that they would come to like him eventually.

He was on his way to the dressing room—now his own—when he caught sight of a figure from the corner of his eye. Aidan turned. "Richard?"

Richard raised a hand in greeting. "I didn't want to interrupt you earlier. The work you were doing onstage with Mr. Bloom... well, it was top notch. You're going to take this production to the top, Aidan. I'm so proud of you." He put a gentle hand on Aidan's shoulder, looking into his eyes. "How are you doing?"

If Richard meant to charm him like Lee had done, it didn't work, although Aidan remained none the wiser for it. He opened the door for Richard and closed it behind them for privacy. Richard was a bit of a legend, and if word got out that he was here, Aidan would have more attention than he wanted.

"I'm good, actually. When I think about Dean I feel guilty, but things have been perfect today, actually. I mean, apart from the fact that he's not here. How has he been? You? He's with you, isn't he? Lee wouldn't answer me when I asked him if he was in hospital, so he must have been with you."

"He's fine, Aidan, honestly," Richard assured him. "The water damage at the National was incredibly well-timed. It gives Dean time to recover. Not that his understudy could have stepped into the role. Mr. Kazinsky seems to have gone missing. We suspect it might have been Rob who hurt Dean."

"Lee said it was a mugging." Aidan studied Richard. Something about that didn't make sense. "Wasn't it a mugging?"

"But the mugger, you see," Richard cleared his throat, "well, there were no witnesses. And several people mentioned having seen Rob following Dean down the street. It's just a theory, of course. Perhaps he tried to kill him, but ran away when he failed. Now he's left town. Either way, Dean's none the worse for wear, Aidan."

Richard pulled his cell phone from his pocket and pushed a few buttons until a picture of Dean appeared, taken that morning while he was sleeping. He'd been doing a lot of sleeping. Yet, now his face was merely a bit bruised and swollen in places, as if he had taken a beating. "As you can see, he's looking well. He didn't want me taking his picture, so I had to wait until he fell asleep," he said with a smile. "He misses you."

Aidan parted his lips to object. _Kill?_ There was talk of Rob having potentially assaulted him? Though Dean looked healthy enough on the picture that Richard showed him. A little pale, but at least healthy. His emotions welled up at the sight. "I miss him too. This is stupid, not being able to see him. He's my boyfriend. I'm supposed to be there for him, especially at times like these."

"You aren't being kept from him, Aidan," Richard assured him, even though he was. Richard was sure to meet Aidan's eyes. "You just got the best possible news. _Two_ of the best possible. Dean is fine, and you just got your break. From what I saw on that stage, you're going to impress the critics tonight. This is your big shot. Dean would be devastated if you blew it while worrying about him. I think he's going to need two more days, at least," Richard realized now that he probably should have sent Lee to see Aidan instead. "Can you give him that? 48 hours? He's dealing with some inner demons."

Aidan's relatively decent mood fell. "Two days, and you didn't bring him to the hospital?" He had wanted Dean to be there for when he got to take the stage, never dreaming that it would be permanent position, and now Dean wouldn't be there because some asshole assaulted him and he needed time for himself. It was irrational to think so, but Aidan felt like he was being punished for something. "It's not like I have a choice, do I?"

"It's _his_ choice." Richard hated the lie. "He doesn't want you to see him like this, Aidan. He's so thrilled for you—about your part—but he doesn't want you worrying about him. It'll show in your acting. Tonight's your big night. Give him a day or two and I promise you he'll be here in the wings cheering you on."

Aidan averted his eyes. As long as he would. But Richard being there with Dean, considering what had passed between them, did not calm him down. "Why are you here, Richard? I am fine, and I'm sure you have better things to do. How is the state of the building?"

"It's a mess," Richard dismissed it with a wave, "but that's all right. It gives us an opportunity to come watch you work. I came because Dean asked me to." Another lie. "He wants you to understand that he's okay. He just didn't want to go to hospital." Richard felt his betraying fingers reaching for the phone again. "Let's see if he's awake." He dialed Lee's cell.

"Hey, Lee," he tried to sound casual when Lee picked up. "Is Dean able to talk? Aidan could really stand to hear his voice right now."

"You weren't able to compel him, were you?" Lee chuckled. "You shouldn't have gone to see him. You should have let me handle that." He walked to the bedroom, where Dean lay on the bed, curled on one side, eyes barely open.

"Hey," Lee slipped the phone into his hand. "Would you like to speak with Aidan?" 

Dean nodded, pulling the phone to his ear. "Aid?"

Richard smiled and handed the phone to Aidan. "This should help you get through tonight."

Aidan's eyes widened, and he grasped for the phone. "Dean? Hi, is that—how are you?" Hearing his voice sated a hidden need inside. He didn't want to remind Dean of what had happened and immediately push him away again, so instead he started softly, "Have you heard? I have the lead, starting tonight."

"So proud of you," Dean sounded as if he'd just woken. "What incredible luck, Aidan. Soon everyone will know what an amazing actor you are. I'll be there soon as I can to see you. Maybe tomorrow night."

"I'd like that..." Aidan leaned back. It was as if Richard was no longer there. "Just, as long as you're feeling up to it. Your health is more important than seeing me too fast. I miss you."

Richard scraped his throat, but kept out of it. Lee would cut it off soon, or so he assumed.

"I was hurt pretty bad," Dean admitted. "But I'm feeling a lot better now. I'm just really, really tired. Want you to kick ass tonight, Aid. I love you."

Lee's voice came on the line next. "He dozed off, Aidan. My fault. I've given him strong pain meds. Well done on the role. You deserve it. We'll be there to see you soon."

And then the line went dead.

_We'll be there?_

Aidan handed back the phone with a bitter taste in his mouth. "Thank you," he bowed with as much grace as he could muster, "I should be getting ready now. Will you stay for the show? It's not sold out night after night, but it's actually a really good play. You might like it." Gathering his costume, Aidan nevertheless kept his eyes on Richard. He looked like he was trying. At least Aidan had to give him that.

"It wouldn't be fair of me to stay and watch if Dean couldn't," Richard smiled warmly. "Besides, I'd promised to shop and take food home to the lads. It's my hope that two days from now—on Saturday night—Dean will be here and we'll all watch together."

"I'll look forward to it," Aidan said wryly. He opened the door and let Richard out. "Thanks for stopping by."

As soon as he was alone, he fell down on the small sofa in the corner and groaned. "Not fair," he whimpered, "not fair."

\- - - - - 

When Richard burst into his townhouse, carrying two bags of groceries, he hurriedly dropped them on the kitchen counter and went into the bedroom, where he found Lee sitting on the bed, reading a book next to a sleeping Dean.

"We're going to have to try to accelerate things, aren't we?" Lee said without looking up. "We're going to have to feed him."

"Aidan wants to see him. I don't know how much longer I can keep telling him things like this, when I know that he thinks we're whisking him away from him." Richard knelt down in front of Lee, letting a thumb brush his knee while his eyes were on the man in the bed. "He's looking better. The cuts are barely there. Bordering on dehydration, though. Has he vomited?"

"He hasn't eaten in 48 hours and has only taken a little water," Lee informed him. "He did say he felt nauseous, though. The sooner he feeds, the better he'll feel. Do you think he understands yet what it is that he's become?" Lee pulled the covers up closer to Dean's chin.

"Barely." Richard kissed Lee's leg and leaned his chin on his knee. "But neither did you. He understands he's alive, but I think he will not take to feeding lightly. You were a natural though, didn't have to teach you a thing. Dean will need time. I don't think Aidan will give him that unless he knows about it, he is too insecure for it, but I think it's time to move things forward as soon as he can stay awake for longer than fifteen minutes." He had half a mind to wake Dean up now. "Besides, his food will go bad if we wait much longer."

Lee snorted. "His meal went bad long before any of us met him. Should I go get Rob?"

Richard nodded. "I'll see if I can wake Dean.” He waited for Lee to be out of the room before he moved to Dean and put a hand on his shoulder. It was burning up in what would have been a fever to a mortal man. Richard leaned closer. "Wake," he whispered in the sleeping man's ear, lacing it with a hint of compulsion. It wouldn't work in the same way as it had before, but it was still urgent.

Dean let out a tired sigh and rolled his head slowly in the direction of Richard's voice. Eyes still closed, he sniffed the air. "God..." he groaned. "Is that dreadful smell me?" He cracked open his eyes. "Richard," he smiled softly. "This is your bed."

With the patience of a man tending to the injured, Richard placed a hand on Dean's forehead. The heat was finally subsiding. "It is. And yes, that is you. It's all right though; it means you've gone through your cleansing, and you're very soon ready to strengthen again. I could get you a shower or a bath prepared, if you like, so you can freshen up before that. How are you feeling?"

"I'm just really, really tired," he confessed. "Most of the pain is gone. It just aches a little in my stomach," he said, rubbing it. "I think I might be hungry."

"You didn't eat for over two days." Richard helped him into a sitting position and waited until Dean looked like he was strong enough to walk before guiding him to the bathroom, where he knocked and only proceeded when there was no answer. "You can find towels in the bottom drawer. Use any shampoo you like, and take as long as you need. We'll do something about that hunger when you are ready for it." He stepped back, past the door, and closed it, leaving Dean to lock it if he wanted to.

Richard found Lee in the dining room, quite unconcerned as he tied a dazed Rob to one of the chairs. "He's taking a shower," he informed him. "This is going to be a hard evening."

Lee had stripped Rob down to his underwear and given him a bath, Richard noted. He'd also taken a magic marker and made Xs at several spots on Rob's body—his jugular, both femoral arteries and to the left below Rob's heart.

"To help Dean find the good spots," he explained. "Rob is compelled. He's not going to put up a fight."

Richard sat down opposite the blank gaze. "Is that how Dean should have him? The man tried to end his life for the sake of a role."

"Would you prefer him cognizant?" Lee wondered. "Feeling it all? I wasn't sure we'd be able to get Dean to feed on him if he had to hurt him."

"The whole point of having Rob here is because he deserves it. He looks like a zombie, Lee. I don't know if Dean wants to have him either way, but I think letting the man talk might cause Dean to be less sympathetic, considering that everything that leaves that mouth is offensive. We can always compel him later." Richard leaned back. Poor Rob had no clue what was about to happen, but Richard didn't care for his feelings much. Rob had done enough to deserve hatred alone. He smiled. "Besides, I want Rob to know what is going to happen to him."

"I'll wake him," Lee said, "and you can do the explaining." He put in a hand on each chair arm and leaned over, looking Rob in the eye. "Time to wake up, Rob," he commanded.

Rob blinked, coming back to awareness and realized he was nearly naked and tied to a chair. "What's happening?" he asked, panic rising. "Where am I?"

"Remember the dinner party I mentioned earlier?" Lee grinned. "It's about to begin."


	12. I Really, Really Hate You... But You Taste So Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's coming to dinner? 
> 
> Rob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains mostly non-consensual blood play and consumption. If this is one of your squicks, you'll want to skip down about halfway.

Intelligence returned to Rob's previously vacant eyes. He looked around, remembering suddenly where he was but not understanding how exactly he had gotten here. His last memory was of waking in a bathtub and being again injected with a sedative. By now Rob understood that this wasn't good. "What are you two planning?" he warily asked.

Lee's eyes lowered to the floor where he'd lain the plastic drop cloth under and around the chair Rob was seated in.

Realization dawned in Rob's eyes and Lee and Richard could both hear his heartbeat ratcheting up. 

"Tell him, Richard," Lee said calmly, taking a sip of wine. "Tell him who we are."

"He knows who we are," said Richard casually, leaning back in his chair as he assessed him. "The question is rather, _what_. How long have you followed my career, Rob? Do you understand why I am nearing the end of it in this form?" 

But Rob, in his panic, didn't seem to catch on, so Richard elaborated. "I haven't aged a day since my first appearance on the stage. They will start to notice it soon. I don't age kindly. In fact, I don't age at all. There are several advantages in that, and considering what you did to Dean, it seems only fair that you will experience one of the setbacks to help him settle into his new body, don't you agree?"

"You're right," Rob admitted quietly. "I know who—and what—you are. I've been following your career since I was old enough to read. My mother made sure of it. You killed my father not long after my birth. Tell me, did you know I was his son? Or was he just one of the faceless many whose blood you used to stay alive?!"

Lee looked at Richard, who thought hard at that. Kazinsky. It didn't ring a bell. "That must have been thirty years ago," he defended himself with soft, diplomatic words. "I do try not to kill people if I can help it, you should know. If I killed your father, then it was either an accident or he had been asking for it. It has nothing to do with why you're here. You mutilated Dean, Rob. You ruined him. You, Rob, have definitely asked for it. If you had issues with me, they should have stayed with me. You shouldn't have involved him."

"Wait," Lee interjected, "Kazinsky. I think I remember him. Yes, a right bastard he was. Met him in a pub, I believe. Riddled with debts and other women. Tried to steal from us. I see the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"And that justified ripping out his throat and leaving him to bleed out in some dark alley?" 

The words left Rob's mouth before he had the opportunity to give thought to them. "I..." he whimpered, "I hadn't meant to hurt him so badly. I was just so _angry_." A tear ran from his left eye and he tried to wipe it away on his shoulder, and failed. "I've always been angry," he confessed, staring down at his lap. "I've never been happy—or lucky."

He looked up to see Dean standing in the doorway, wearing a light blue robe a few sizes too large for him, his hair damp from the shower.

"How did _you_ get to be so lucky?" Rob asked Dean.

"I just washed pieces of my own eyeball off my face," Dean told him, still in seeming shock. "And I think I might be dead. That doesn't seem very lucky to me. _Am_ I dead?" he turned to Richard.

"You're not," Lee said when Richard still grasped for words. "Dead things don't have a heartbeat. Biologically, dead things don't have cell growth." He tilted his head, the theory amusing. "Your cell growth is more than twice as fast and will have no more margin of error, so technically you are more alive than any human."

Richard shook his head. "They call us vampires, but if you ask any of them a description of what that means, they are only right on two accounts: we don't age, and we need blood. Human blood, to be precise. And yes, we are predators, but we live in the same society that condemns any semblance to natural order. So you can imagine I'm not fond of the term." He proceeded as if Rob wasn't there. "I'm sorry, Dean. There was no time to tell you all of this before you made the choice."

Dean looked down at his left hand, which had been sliced to ribbons by Rob's assault. Now it was as pristine as the day he'd been born. Even a scar he'd gotten as a teenager falling off his bike—gone. He was perfect. His eyes were bluer and his eyesight and hearing keener, skin clearer, teeth whiter, hair thicker and richer in color.

"I—I have to drink blood?" he asked them weakly. His stomach gave a betraying growl at the question, and he took a step backwards.

"Yes, well..."

"Yes," Lee finished Richard's trailing sentence. "Again," and he looked at an increasingly paling Rob, "not what it seems. It does need to be warm—dead blood is good for no one. But you don't need to bite a man to drink from him. That's a very difficult thing to do, and it comes with extensive practice. You also don't need to end his life. Though, in this case, I'd be glad if you did."

Dean's stomach growled again and he felt a dull ache building in his gums. "I don't think I can do it—kill him," he said softly. "Rob, I just wanted to be your friend. And now..."

"Now, he's stabbed you in the face," Lee said bluntly. "He tried to ruin your career because you beat him out for a role. And you were successful. Wildly successful. Much more successful than he would have been. And it made him angry."

Richard gave Lee a warning look.

"This is the knife he stabbed you with," Lee pulled Rob's knife from his own pocket. It had been cleaned and gleamed in the firelight. He flicked it open with expert precision and Rob startled. Before Rob could react, Lee sliced into his bicep, coating the blade with blood. He held the knife out to Dean, handle first. "Taste him."

Dean was fighting an internal war. He was sickened by the notion of drinking blood. And yet, his body responded to it. He _wanted_ to. He _needed_ to. Instinctively, he knew he needed the blood to get strong enough to see Aidan again.

"All right," he said, reaching for the knife. A few drops fell on the drop cloth as his hand trembled. He couldn't bear to look at Rob as he brought the blade to his mouth and gave an experimental lick. With the first taste, he felt something give way inside him. It was a little salty and tasted better than any burger or steak he'd ever enjoyed. He carefully, expediently, licked the blade clean, feeling the blood begin to nourish him. It was like a cool drink on a hot day.

Lee casually flicked open another wound, this one just a little off Rob's jugular. A small fissure followed in the wake of the knife. He got up and placed a hand on Richard's shoulder. "I think we should leave them be. The first time feeding is an intimate affair."

Richard didn't follow suit however. "It's also dangerous."

"I'm sure he won't drain him completely."

Richard looked at Dean for confirmation. "Do you want us here?"

Completely locked out of the conversation, Rob was breathing fast, his nostrils flaring as his fear propagated itself in his scent. Lee felt his body grow weak under the onslaught, and he dug his nails into his legs to stop himself from sweeping in and finishing Rob himself. "Well, do what you want, but I won't be."

Dean felt a surge of something—longing, desire, hunger, he couldn't tell quite what it was—spread throughout his body. "May I have that knife?" he asked Lee, and the man readily handed it over with a smile.

"He's going to be just fine," Lee told Richard. "Come."

Reluctantly, Richard got up and followed him. "I'll be just in the other room," he told Dean, who nodded absently.

"He'll figure it out," Lee assured him. "We did, didn't we?" He put his arm around Richard's waist and ushered him out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Dean put the knife on the table and fastidiously removed his robe. He laid it on the table. "It's a nice robe," he explained to Rob. "I don't want to get it dirty." Then he picked up the knife and turned to the man who'd nearly killed him.

"Now... where were we?"

Not able to draw back from where he was tied to the chair, Rob swallowed. "Don't do this. I made a mistake. I'm sorry. You're not like this. Dean, if you do this, would you be able to forgive yourself?"

When Dean was close enough to touch him, Rob cringed. His eyes fluttered, though it wasn't with fear alone. There was something else there, hidden from sight, something that Rob had never expected. In proximity this close, he almost felt like he wanted Dean to taste him. "Oh god," he moaned helplessly, "don't do it. I'm not ready to die."

"But I _am_ like this now," Dean chuckled, not at all uncomfortable in his nudity. "You saw to that. I could have lived, disfigured and mute. But Richard, in his kindness, restored me. I'm better now," Dean looked down at himself in an uncharacteristic display of pride. "Faster, and stronger, too." He moved towards Rob with predatory speed and leaned over him, fisting a handful of his hair and exposing the newly opened cut to his gaze.

"The urge to torture you is very, very strong, Rob," he admitted. "But I don't have the stomach for it. At least, I don't think I do." He pondered for a moment, the knife hovering over Rob's left nipple. He leaned in and latched his mouth over the cut, sucking greedily. "It's not enough," he bemoaned. "I'm going to have to go deeper, I'm afraid."

Underneath him came no resistance. While Rob looked like he was in agony, he was silent save for the sounds that spoke of very other feelings indeed. "Just don't—don't kill me. I'll do anything for you, I swear." There was almost reverence in his voice. He was, and it was a great mystery to himself, getting off on this. He had never thought of Dean sexually, nor was it the fact that he was naked, but here he was, desire pumping through his blood. He hissed when the knife cut him again. Almost, almost did he whisper, _yes_.

Dean found Rob repulsive, he truly did. He detested him for the suffering he'd caused him, and for the instant dislike Rob had shown towards him, despite Dean's efforts to befriend him.

And _yet._

Rob's fear was a heady, hedonistic concoction, and coupled with the smell and pull of his blood, Dean found himself growing hard. "I suppose," he whispered, climbing into Rob's lap, "I should be embarrassed to be so turned on right now. Because I hate you, Rob. I really, really hate you," he closed his lips over the wound and used his teeth to coax more blood from beneath the skin. "But you taste so _good_."

When the size of the wound didn't satisfy Dean's appetite any longer, he pulled back, studying Rob's face for a reaction. "It only hurts a little bit, right?" he asked, blue eyes locked on Rob's, and lowered the knife to enlarge the cut. He hit the jackpot when he knicked Rob's jugular and the blood began to stream out steadily. "It hardly hurts at all," Dean reminded soothingly, leaning in to feed.

Rob's eyes rolled back despite his instinct for self-preservation. "I really hate you too. You're too perfect. You wouldn't give me even one night on the stage. And Richard, oh, I saw the way Richard looked at me. I was never even in the game." The words however were honeyed and his chest rose and fell as Dean drank from him. If his hands were free, he would have moved them over Dean's waist, maybe even to cup his ass. Rob detested Dean, though there was no denying the pleasure that serving as a drink brought him.

Soon his movements started to blur, his heartbeat growing increasingly irregular. "...Stop it now," Rob panted, "I can't give you any more."

Dean sat back on his heels and chuckled at Rob. "Don't be ridiculous," he wiped away an errant drop of blood from his chin. "Of course you can." Dean's body was buzzing as if populated by a swarm of bees. "Oh, Rob..." he groaned in pleasure, grinding his arousal down against his captive's, "you cannot imagine how good I feel right now."

But Rob was looking increasingly pale. He winced when Dean's unclothed arousal rubbed against him in a way that he still found incredibly hot, yet his body was rebelling, moving as though the air was made of mud. "Just...a moment. Please. I'll be ready for you again soon."

As the sound of Rob's voice penetrated Dean's blood-high brain, he realized that he'd gone too far. "I—I have to stop," he whispered. "I have to stop or you'll die. But If I don't kill you, they surely will."

He distangled himself from Rob's lap. "I'm sorry, Rob. Sorry about your dad...and sorry that we couldn't have been friends. And I'm sorry for what's going to happen to you now," he reached for the robe, pulling it around himself, suddenly chilled. "Tell me, what can I do to make it better?"

On the other side of the door, Lee frowned. "He's too kind for this life, Richard. I thought for a moment there he might rage on him...but...should we go in there?"

Rob shook his head. "Don't kill me," he continued to plead, still heavily affected. "I can quit the play. I can continue to be this to you. I promise I'll be the best... host, or whatever you'd call it, and nobody would have to know. Nobody would believe me if I told them about you." He breathed in. "God, you can't make me feel this good and then end it."

Dean looked down at Rob with pity. "Rob, you aren't special to me. This... whatever you want to call it... _arrangement_ , it happened because you tried to kill me. You ruined my face, sliced up my body, you stabbed me in the fucking _eye,_ and left me to bleed to death in an alley. I will never forget that pain, that fear, that helplessness. And, I'm afraid, you won't be leaving this house alive."

Dean looked down at his hands. They were trembling. "I think I have the strength to kill you," he said thoughtfully. "I feel as if I could very easily snap your neck. It would be quick," he cocked his head to the side. "You know how this is going to end, Rob."

Rob was shaking now—if not for the lack of strength, then for the returning fear that again overshadowed the pleasure of his surrender. "But you live. Have mercy, please, I beg of you! I don't want to die. I have all of my life ahead of me."

"You don't though," Lee's voice sounded from the door. He looked at Dean. "Do you want me to take it from here? You don't have to go there. You know him. We understand if you don't want to witness him going. It doesn't usually end in death, you know. In fact it's possible to live your life without a single one, if you're careful. But Rob doesn't deserve that."

Coming down from the rush of feeding, Dean started to feel remorse. "Lee...I..." he began. "I'm not the kind of person who believes in capital punishment, or that whole 'eye for an eye' business." He couldn't bear to look into Rob's face again. "Do you think people can change? Can he be spared?"

It must have been funny, because Lee chuckled. "You're still so beautifully naive, Dean. I like that. Of course he can be spared. The thing just is, do you want to spare him? He may plead with you now, but he will be the same man tomorrow that he’s always been. I don't think you're prepared to keep in contact with him, not when you have Aidan. And then there's that. Aidan. Believe it or not, he is your weak spot. If Rob can't get what he wants from you, which will be the rush of being drunk from and all it entails, then he knows where to go to make sure he does. You can make him little more than a junkie if you want to, but addicts are desperate, and desperate men do desperate things."

Dean took all of this in, realizing that feeding on Rob was a death sentence in and of itself. He had watched a college friend succumb to addiction—in and out of rehab, his torture finally ended by an overdose.

"I'm sorry, Rob," he told him, hugging himself. "I'm really very sorry about all of this. I wish it could have been different with us," To Lee, he said, "I don't want to watch—whatever it is you're going to do, I don't want to see. I'm going to go take another shower."

With an air of finality, he turned his back on Rob and left the room, brushing past Richard on his way through the living room.

"Well then," Lee turned brusquely on the bound actor. "That leaves you to me then, doesn't it?"

Rob was taken away from the kitchen, lest Dean return, and Richard took him from the hallway. He helped Rob into his clothing and took him to his car, where he sat like a passenger to all the world, and leaned in for a kiss from Lee. Never kill a man in one's own home unless you had the means to get rid of him. That was the rule, and while they did have the means, they couldn't risk Dean finding out about that now. It would be too much for him. "I won't be long. Don't take him to Aidan yet. Just...try to put his mind somewhere else, if you can." 

As the car drove off, Lee was left alone in front of the house. He straightened himself, ignoring the buzz that had come from listening to Dean and Rob's interaction and moved to light a few scented candles. Vanilla always calmed him down. Then he waited for Dean to return.

When Dean exited the shower again, he'd scrubbed his hands and face so hard they were pink. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of Rob's cold skin, nor the euphoria he had gotten while feeding on him. He'd used some mouthwash, but he could still taste Rob's coppery blood. Worse yet, he still craved more.

All of Richard's clothing was too big for him, but he helped himself to a pair of sweatpants and baseball shirt he found in a drawer. He couldn't bring himself to put the robe back on. It reminded him of what he'd done. How he had lost control and nearly killed someone.

The dining room was empty, the drop cloth as well as Rob himself gone. The house felt quiet, if not for the sound of classical music. Dean followed it to the living room, where Lee sat by the fire drinking a glass of red wine, an open book on his lap.

Dean sat in the chair across from him and was silent for a few moments. Then, he asked. "How did you become... _like this?_ When? Was it Richard who turned you?"

A flare of tempo in the music accompanied Lee as he roused from the page. He reached for a bookmark and put the book away, then took a while to consider what he would say. At last Lee smiled at his hands. 

"That was a long time ago. I have lived for over a century, only a short while for one of our kind. He was my creator, but I haven't spent all that time with him. It would have driven me mad, and him quite so, I imagine. I was a rogue and a scholar, and when he came into my life he was as wise as the old philosophers and doubly dangerous. Naturally, I was drawn to him, just like you were when you saw him on stage." A sip. Lee looked into Dean's blue eyes, and Dean could see how the man's were closer to red now than their usual brown. "I got ill. Consumption. He offered me the choice, weeks after I begged him if he did not know of a solution. I was nearly dead."

Lee rubbed over a knuckle. He sighed. "I was born for it in a way that Richard never expected. It was new for me too, but I loved it. The feeding, the occasional killing. I didn't mind it then, and I still don't. Richard does, but he is what he is. He has set himself the rule that it can only be the wicked, if he truly cannot do without. But I was young then, and I quickly overstepped. He tried to steer me back on what he calls the righteous path for nearly four years. Then we went our separate ways. There aren't many of us though. It took us decades, but we found each other again. Ah, yes, Patagonia. It sounds dramatic, doesn't it?"

"It sounds like something from a gothic novel," Dean bit his lip and his eyes turned pensively to the fire. "I'm guessing you came to England in the early 1980s because people where you were living prior to that began to become suspicious—because you weren't aging."

Despite his proximity to the fire, Dean was cold, and he pulled his legs up under him. "Everyone I love is going to grow old and die," he concluded, "but I'm not. Not now." He blinked and tear ran down his cheek that he didn't have the energy to wipe away. "Why are your eyes so red, Lee?" he wondered.

"I am hungry," Lee replied simply. "I have just had a rare steak paraded in front of me and I haven't been given a taste. That, and I don't bother to hide it when I'm within this house." He rose to poke at the hearth fire and returned not to his seat but to the seat by the piano. Fingers danced a melancholy waltz over the black keys. "Everything comes at a price in this world. Some people dream of living forever, others know that it's not for them and try to reach immortality differently. For us, it's almost a curse in it being so black and white. We either live or we die, but we will not be remembered, for we will not age and thus nobody will ever say, look at what that man has accomplished by hard work and brilliance. A life that's not limited by mortality tends to have them assume that you have lived past the beginning of mankind and that nothing you achieve is worth mentioning. Unless they don't know." Lee struck a solitary chord. "Think about it this way: those who truly love you would be happier to know you will live than that you would have already died."

Dean found himself gaining new respect for Lee. He'd seen so much in his life, known so much, learned so much. And now his entire family—his loved ones—were dust in their graves. 

_Aidan._

"Will I be able to see him?" Dean asked, knowing full well Lee would know of whom he was speaking. 

"Do you trust him with your life?" Lee countered with his mind lost in the sway of the music. Any chord he struck was now dissonant as it layered itself over the classical tune in the background.

Dean was silent for a few moments. Of course he trusted Aidan. Aidan would never, ever hurt him. But how would Aidan react to something like this?

"To tell the truth, I'm scared to leave this house," Dean admitted. "I know the Rob thing was a targeted attack, but the idea of walking out the door and being around people...it makes my stomach knot and I can't stop shaking. Maybe I was meant to die, Lee. Do you believe that? That people have a fate, and if you toy with it, consequences can be disastrous?"

“Oh Dean, you were meant for greatness, not to be sliced up into beef jerky by a madman who merely wanted your role. Don't let anyone tell you that your fate was to lie down." A car drove by, but none pulled up on the driveway. Richard still had to be out. "Do you want to go outside? We don't need to start running before we learn to walk again, now do we? You'll need to learn to control yourself. There is no better time than now, when you're still sated."

Dean shook his head. "No, not yet. I... could you keep playing the piano like that? It's nice. And I'd like some of that wine. Lots of it. Please?"

"You'll only be drunk for half the duration." The glass and the bottle were passed down to him, and the music continued. Lee didn't think it was music. He loved to mar the perfection of the piece, creating something haunting out of a merry tune, and it surprised him pleasantly that Dean could appreciate it. "We should probably move you to a different room. The one you've been in needs airing, and when Richard comes back, I will need to be alone with him. Does an attic room suit you? The sun is marvelous at dawn."

"I'm to live here, with Richard?" the glass Dean was drinking from paused mid-air. 

Lee stopped his melody. "Well, of course not, but you mentioned you didn't want to go outside just yet." He proceeded in a different scale that almost matched that of the play. 

"He's killing Rob right now, isn't he?" Dean asked softly.

"Richard is dealing with him. I haven't asked specifics, so I assume that he might be. Then again, he's soft at heart. He might spare him if he finds a way for it not to lead back to any of us. You'll never know." He added like it was a waste, "I would have had different plans for him."

Dean was having a hard time reconciling the gentle man who sat before him right now playing the piano with the person who could—and would—rip out someone's throat. "Lee, I'm scared." The words left his lips before he could stop them.

The piano fell silent. The bench was pushed back, and on bare feet Lee walked until he was kneeling down opposite Dean. He raised a hand to rest against his neck, raising himself to place a kiss on the man's forehead. "Nobody will hurt you. I will not let them."

Dean had no idea what compelled him to do it, but he propelled himself into Lee's arms and hugged him tightly. Sobs came, unbidden. He didn't know what he was mourning—Rob, his opinion of Richard...or himself. "I'm sorry if I was mean to you, Lee," he wept into Lee's shoulder. "And I'll try not to be a burden to you and Richard."

He held onto Lee for some time, allowing the taller man to soothe him with appropriate words and careful caresses.

When Richard got home, that was how he found them, in front of the dwindling fire. Dean had fallen off to sleep.

"He's going to be all right," Lee assured Richard. "He had a rough patch, but it's passing. What happened?" _With Rob,_ the question was implied.

Richard took off his coat and sat in the chair on the other side of the hearth. His dark eyes locked onto Lee's. They both knew what they wanted, having been affected in weaker measure just the same, except that one of them was currently encumbered by someone that mattered more than their basic instincts. 

"I sold him," he said. "Will and Jed showed interest. He'll be smuggled out of the country by tomorrow and set to work somewhere." If Rob worked hard, that meant he'd live a life that could pass for acceptable, but his passport and his freedom would forever be taken from him. Nobody got away from Kircher once the man had gotten his hands on them. It was a kind fate. "He deserved worse, but I couldn't do that to Dean."

Lee was reluctant, yet he rose to his feet with practiced elegance, sweeping Dean effortlessly into his arms and settling him gently onto the sofa. It had been so long that anyone other than Richard wanted to be held by him—wanted his attentions—that'd he'd nearly forgotten how it felt. It moved him to want to try to fall in love again; with Richard, with anyone.

As he pulled a warm throw blanket up over Dean's still form he said, "I'm proud of you, Richard. I think I might have killed him, despite Dean's wishes. But still, death seems like the easy way out, compared to what you've sentenced him to. Poor guy," Lee chuckled. He hardly felt sympathy for Rob, not with the memory of what Dean's face looked like when they found him.

"We should feed, Richard. If we don't, it's going to come back and bite _us_ in the proverbial ass."

"I have no taste for the asylum," Richard waved Lee's offer aside. If anywhere were easy hunting grounds, then it were the places where people wouldn't be taken seriously, and yet it was taxing on them to go there and feed on the insane. Even Lee didn't always want to go there. "You want to go out?"

"Nothing we have in the refrigerator appeals to me," Lee lamented. "Especially not after the events of the past few days. We should have finished off Rob—you and me—and drained him. I'm desperate for it, Richard."

Richard's fingers cradled Lee's face. "Not him. That should have been Dean's choice. And we can't leave him here alone. If he wakes up and finds the house empty, he might do something he'll regret." He leaned back, raised his brow in a challenge. "Let's order pizza."

Lee chuckled softly, "All right," he conceded, offering "I'll call."

When the pizza arrived, they compelled the deliveryman and both took a decent-sized share of his blood. He was burly, they reasoned, and he could withstand the feeding. Richard compelled him to remember only a threesome with two gorgeous college girls—material straight out of a _Hustler_ magazine forum fantasy. What he chose to tell his significant other, if any, was purely up to him.

\- - - - - 

When Dean awoke the next morning, his hand met with the buttery soft leather of Richard's couch. He marveled at the texture, at how he could see every grain, nearly down to the fibers. He could smell pizza from rooms away, and hear church bells pealing despite the fact that they were supposed to be blocks from any church.

He wondered how Aidan would smell to him now. How he would _taste._

Richard entered the room hours after Dean first woke. He knocked on the door out of common courtesy and opened the door carefully when he received a response. One look at Dean had him at peace. He moved past him to the kitchen, and said as he passed him, "You look good today. You're feeling better? I bet wouldn't say no to bacon and eggs right now."

"Food would be great," Dean told him. "And I really need a toothbrush and some clothes that fit. Am I—" and here he paused, mostly because he feared the answer, " _can_ I go back home? Will he have me like this, Richard? Will he still love me?"

Over the sound of butter sizzling in a heating frying pan and a silicone spatula pushing the lump around, Richard said back, "I can't imagine why he wouldn't accept you, if he loves you. You're free to go where you like, though I wouldn't pick his company as the first stop, trust me on that."

Dean remembered that day on stage when Richard had had what he'd thought was some sort of seizure or allergic reaction. "If I want him too much, I'll want to feed on him, won't I?" he sighed. "It's why you acted so strangely when you and I got too passionate. Are there ways of controlling it? I mean, I'm not going to be hungry all the time, am I?"

"...Not if you make sure you're not hungry when you see him." Egg unbroken in his hand, Richard sighed. "We haven't begun to make sure you can manage on your own. Maybe you should see him with at least Lee or myself there with you until you're sure of yourself. It would have been easier if you weren't sharing an apartment."

Dean hopped up onto the counter next to where Richard was cooking in a deft, cat-like gesture. "How often must I feed? And is it always like it was with Rob? Can't I just keep blood around and drink it?"

"Tastes horrible, but yes. And keep it as few and far between as you can. You still need proper food, by the way. Think of it as an insulin shot. Once every two weeks, unless you're hooked. But you'll notice when you need it." Richard leaned closer, until there were bare inches between them left. "Notice how I smell, and the difference with yesterday? I have just fed; I was on my limit last night."

 _How could I not notice?_ It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to say. Richard had always smelled incredible to him. But now...well, he smelled like peppermint, and his favorite foods and pine trees and nearly everything Dean loved rolled into one. 

"You smell very good to me," was what Dean said, at length. "I suppose the smell was always there—before—but now it's obvious why I found you so irresistible. Can it really be as simple as chemistry? Do I smell the same to you now that I've changed, or is it different?"

Richard leaned in to breathe into his ear, "You smell like a young flower." Dean's scent had been muddied before, and Richard had barely been able to pinpoint the source of the attraction despite it clearly having been there. Indeed, Lee hadn't understood him until Dean had come into his own after Rob's attack.

Straightening himself, Richard gathered his composure. "You smell of promise, and I'm inclined to see where it would take me," he said just as he turned back to the frying pan. It was a shielded warning.

Dean chuckled nervously, shifting to accommodate the immediate erection Richard's voice had prompted. "Well then," he managed, "fans of our work are in for a real treat once the theater opens again, aren't they?"

He watched in silence as Richard's adept hands made short work of preparing three plates of breakfast—bacon, eggs, toast and jam. He had so many questions he wanted to ask Richard—about his own experiences with this new lifestyle, how he'd been turned, who'd done it—but he wasn't sure now was the time to ask.

His fingers brushed Richard's when he accepted a glass of juice from him and the touch was thrilling, electric. 

The touch left an uncomfortable silence between them. Richard stood tense. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. "If," he panted, "if you cannot share yourself between him and me, then at least share me between the two of you. I will overstep this line at some point, because I know how you want it."

The fork Dean had picked up clattered back to the table, the sound muted, thankfully, by the tablecloth. "Richard," he practically groaned, "what the fuck?"

"I do love a good fuck early in the morning," Lee quipped, entering the room in a sweater and jeans. "Starts the day off right." He sat down. "Smells amazing, Richard. My compliments to the chef."

Dean could only look back and forth between the two of them as the conversation switced to more mundane things like work. But now the seed had been planted.


	13. My Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard and Lee start teaching Dean the ropes. Dean goes to Aidan's play -- and his dressing room.

Unaware of most of the previous conversation between Richard and Dean, Lee talked about paying a visit to the theater to check on the restoration progress. It would be good practice for Dean, he reasoned, and they could go for a milkshake on their way home. Lee was unabashed about it.

They did end up going there later that day. Richard waited by the door as Lee strode outside. He turned to Dean. "Will you be coming too? We should get you a new jacket soon." Rob had ruined the last one.

"I don't really have the money to buy clothes right now," Dean told him. "My first couple paychecks...well, I used them to pay off some of my debts. But I have a spare at home. My apartment," he clarified. "It's not as nice as the leather one, but it's warm." Dean smiled. They were chatting like it was any normal day. Not like three vampires standing on a street corner.

"I'd like to see Aidan's show tonight," Dean continued. "Do you think maybe we can—hey, Adam!" Dean caught sight of his friend approaching, hands jammed into his pockets against the cold, a red scarf wrapped around his neck.

The figure unfurled before them, and warm kindness greeted them. "Dean! Hi! What are you doing h—oh, Mr. Armitage, Mr. Pace! Having a day off as well, haven't you? I was just on my way to Tesco." Adam shuffled closer. "I thought you'd be in your flat. Aid said you got mugged. That's terrible!"

Dean hugged him tightly. "Luckily these two showed up just when things were getting scary," he told Adam, "I feel certain I would have been badly hurt or dead if they hadn't."

Dean could smell the coffee and donuts Adam had had for breakfast, as well as his body wash. The smell was comforting. "I'm looking forward to getting back to work," he admitted.

"Yeah. They say it'll be several weeks, though. Apparently all the sets were ruined as well, so they need to redo them. Have you read the Times article about it? It was in the next day. I called you about it, but your phone was dead. Anyway, yes, big tragedy! People are really sad about missing us for a few weeks, apparently. Isn't that wonderful?" Adam, as he talked, continued and continued. "Hey, we should go for a drink sometime. Are you free tomorrow?"

Adam had no idea what his appearance meant to any of the three who, Adam had to admit, looked more radiant than ever. Even Dean looked like he could conquer the world, and he had never looked like that to him before, though he had always looked like he was fighting. He didn't know they could read him like an open book and remained blissfully unaware of the scent of his own blood, which currently all three were able to suffer without difficulty.

I'd love to get a drink with you Adam," Dean told him. "Let’s meet at Tyrone's Pub at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Have you seen Aidan's show yet?" he had to ask. "Richard says he's doing an amazing job."

"Opening night," boasted Adam. "He's amazing, Richard is right." He put his hands in his pockets. "I'll see you tomorrow then? You probably have plans." He paused, and the implication was clear to Dean. _Talk to him. He misses you._

"Two o'clock then," Dean confirmed. "I'm looking forward to it, Adam."

As the two parties went their separate ways, Dean turned to the others. "I'd like to see Aid's play—tonight. Is that all right?"

"Of course," said Lee, "We were half of a mind to go already. Handled that one quite well, actually. No compulsion to have him or anything?" He himself hadn't been that saintly, especially not on the first day out.

Dean considered his response. "I liked how he smelled," he confessed, "but I didn't feel anything. Will you go with me tonight?"

"Of course." Lee hooked an arm with Dean’s, ignorant of the world around him and the several curious looks he was given. He shared a look with Richard. Lee had as much reason not to want to reunite Aidan with his lost man than he had to keep them apart. Dean distracted Richard from looking at Lee whenever he was around or the subject of conversation. That weighed up against him being quite interested in Aidan himself. The only thing tipping the balance was Dean being one of theirs now. Though not truly related, that created a connection and Lee had always had a thing for the newly 'born', if one could call it that.

Richard gave him a look that said that he knew and walked on, giving Lee the opportunity to whisper in Dean's ear, "Want to see how we hunt? Pick anyone you see, anywhere."

Dean's eyes widened a bit. "Anyone?" his eyes scanned the bustling thoroughfare and finally settled on young dark haired man selling flowers on the corner. "Him," he inclined his head. "The flower vendor."

Dean, curiosity piqued, was eager to see Lee in action, now that he understood his motives.

"A fine pick," Lee commended. Without informing Richard of his plans, he swooped towards the man in a faintly theatrical motion that was made acceptable by following it with a gesture of humility. Dean couldn't see what was happening or what was being said, although he could understand how every move that Lee made was to make the flower vendor more malleable to his advances. 

Richard shook his head when he caught on. "Made a wager with you, did he? Or is he simply showing off?"

It was decidedly the latter, and Lee looked over his shoulder at the pair once before following the man around the corner into an alley. He returned less than a minute later, immaculate as ever while the man next to him stood flustered. Despite having been fed on, there was no sign of discomfort or concern. Instead, they looked like they had just shared a very intimate moment together.

"Do I have to act like that?" Dean asked Richard. "All the dramatics...It's not really my style. I'm very no-nonsense."

"That's all Lee. He's taking a risk there, too. Walking around like that, people tend to take notice. So even if the memory of the guy over there remains intact, it might be that others saw what happened and will be alarmed. But I think," no, he was quite sure, "that he is trying to make a point about how easy it can be."

As soon as Lee had joined their ranks again, they walked on, Lee with a smug face and Richard with that of a man who knew his child had done something bad but was equal amounts amused. "You show him then," Lee nudged him. "Since you're the master."

"I'm not the master."

"Yes, you are. You just don't want to be skilled at something morally ambiguous, but that doesn't mean you aren't."

"I'm not hungry."

Lee snorted. "For the sake of _education_ , Rich."

Dean, who knew far too well how effective Richard's charms could be, was still interested in seeing them applied. 

"How about the silver haired woman in the business suit over there?" he encouraged.

Richard let out a sigh. He gave up. The woman did not suspect a thing when he approached her, but she found his proximity alarming regardless, and so made to say no to whatever Richard was going to tell her.

He didn't compel her. It wasn't necessary, when his story gave her no reason to mistrust him. After all, he did look a lot like a childhood classmate of hers, and from her responses he knew when she expected which words. So when Richard shook her hand and left her again, he had not fed from her. He didn't choose to join Lee and Dean. Instead he walked into a secluded area.

She must have realized something, because it was she who suddenly pursued Richard, and his attack was swift and graceful. She stood dazed when he disappeared around a corner and she was suddenly assaulted from behind, swifter than any man could have made it there and thus not putting Richard in the list of suspects. It was done before she knew what had happened. He left her alone where she stood, clutching her wrist where blood ran from a gash. She never could have suspected that in the blur a man had had his mouth against that wound.

Richard returned to Lee and Dean, wiping his mouth, and grinning. "Walk on before she sees us."

"You _knew_ her," Dean surmised, "or she knew who you were. What just happened, Richard?" He was breathless trying to keep up with the long-legged pair.

"I didn't know her. I simply pretended to be someone she knew. It's surprisingly easy, because they always want to test you and you can tell by looking at them exactly what they want to hear. She won't think it was me, because she was the one to follow me." Richard paused so Dean could catch up. He was merry. "It's not easy to feed publicly, but it can be done with a little experience. For now, you should stick to singled out people. Hold on. Here, we've been meaning to give you this."

He handed over a small package. When Dean opened it, he found a small thimble shaped coverlet with a sharp end.

"You put it on your thumb," Lee explained. "Biting is difficult and more often than not it raises far too many questions. Puncture one wound with that, drink, and smooth it over with your tongue when you're done. It makes a wound small enough for the enzymes in your saliva to fix within several minutes. Now, want to try?"

Dean slipped the small silver object onto his right thumb, where it—not surprisingly—fit with perfect snugness. It was an elegant little tool. The idea of puncturing someone's flesh with it sickened him a bit. Then he recalled how it had felt to be straddling Rob's lap, mouth latched onto his neck.

He swayed on his feet and had to grab Lee's arm for support. "Maybe later," he said softly. "When we're somewhere more private. Not in public like this. I don't want to screw up."

"Don't be silly," Lee said kindly, "your first hunt should be effortless and without risk."

"We know a few places for that," added Richard.

"Certainly not here," Lee finished.

"Is there anything I need to be afraid of?" Dean wondered. "You two seem so confident, but surely there must be something other than not feeding that I need to worry about. What aren't you telling me?"

"Being found out." Lee stopped in his tracks and turned to face Dean. "Nobody believes we exist. If they truly knew, we would be gone from this world soon. We are all animal at heart—it would be war. If there is anything that will make them wonder whether something is not right, it is doubt in yourself. Every lie depends on confidence." He eased up. "Which is why we'll teach you. Should you fail, and don't worry that it does because it happens to almost all of us the first time, we'll be there to teach you how to fix it. But you have to learn it before you can survive."

Dean nodded, accepting what Lee said as truth. However, having known the two men—and knowing how he himself felt in his own heart and mind—he could not believe that they were animal in nature. Would this be his life, then? Fooling others? Taking from them? He wasn't sure how he could live with himself.

"Can we die?" he wondered.

It was Richard who replied with a lowered voice. "Easier than you think. Lee is right, Dean, we're animals. Do you know how special humanity is in the way it dies? Almost no other species lives as long to die of old age. Famine, plagues, becoming prey, or simply a misstep that brings about a broken bone, that is the way of the world. We are the purest of the race, biologically speaking, but we're no exception to that."

"There are those who give willingly," Lee changed the subject into what he thought Dean needed to hear more.

High above them, a patch of clouds passed over the sun, throwing the brightly-lit street into dimness, as if to punctuate Lee's proclamation.

"People who give... blood?" Dean needed to find out if his ears had deceived him. "To people like us?"

"It does come with several advantages to the one donating. You already noticed the increase in libido, the ecstasy shared between giver and taker. Then there's the part where anyone who gives will, for a few hours, be physically numb while enjoying the benefits of saliva when drunk directly from the wound. Basically put," he shrugged, "we're Spanish Fly, painkiller and panacea in one. If you decide to tell Aidan, rest assured, he will love what can happen in bed."

For the sake of being complete, Richard added, "The giver doesn't have to be human. We feed off each other just the same, though it wouldn't be as effective."

"It is very effective for sex," Lee attested with a broad smile. "But we digress."

Dean felt himself blushing as the conversation took a salacious turn. 

"I—I don't think I could do that to Aidan," he whispered, but his heart began to race at the notion. "God," he glanced down at his tented-out sweatpants. "I don't usually get like this," he pulled the long woolen coat he'd borrowed from Richard more tightly around him to hide his erection. "Is this...this _arousal_...is this part of who I am now?"

His brain wouldn't allow him to stop thinking about biting Aidan. Or being bitten by Richard, Lee, or both.

Lee kissed him on the cheek. He found it adorable. "Sort of, but then again, you're kicked back to being a virgin on these matters. It'll get easier. Again, we'd love to show you, but I think this is something you will have to figure out on your own."

"We're here," Richard smiled. They stood before a home for the elderly. "One of my very special friends lives here. Would you like to go in, Dean? We can do this another time if you're not comfortable about it."

Dean eyed the sign warily. He wondered who they might possibly be visiting in a retirement home. "Now's good." He stuffed his hands into his pocket so they wouldn't notice how much they were shaking.

Lee did notice, however, and put a comforting hand on his back. "Let's go in, Richard," he prompted.

Apparently Richard and Lee came here frequently. The young lady behind the desk greeted them with recognition, and she gave Dean an interested look when he wrote down a fictitious name on the list—right under the examples of a Mr. Ryan Amesbury and a Mr. Stanley Ace—before proceeding. The elevator took them up two stories, and they walked to the end of the hallway. The corridor smelled of antiseptics and gardenia, but a welcome scent met them in the room of their destination.

"Richard!" a merry old lady exclaimed. She had to be in her nineties. You couldn't tell from how lovely she was though. "What's this, you brought a new friend? Does he...you know...? Oh, do come on in, I made cookies, though I wasn't expecting company."

"She knows," Lee whispered to Dean as they entered. "It's okay. She and Richard go way back."

"Hello," Dean said to her gently, offering his hand to shake. "You remind me of my great-grandmother. I'm Dean. I'm in a play with Richard."

She chuckled. "Thank you, boy. That's not really why you're here, now is it?" She turned to Richard. "He's young, isn't he?"

"I'm thirty-three," Dean frowned. "I suppose age is relative, isn't it? How do you and Richard know one another?" he wondered.

"A couple of days old," Richard supplied, at which she made an understanding sound. "We used to date."

"A long time ago." Her eyes twinkled. She looked like a twenty-year-old in the body of an old lady, only far more respectable in her bearing. "Now, he looks after my health." As easy as that, she held out her delicate wrist. Dean could see the underlying mapping of arteries through transparent skin, throbbing for him to drink from.

He immediately took a step backwards and shook his head like a small child. "Oh no. No, I couldn't," his eyes filled with tears. "You're...you're..."

"I'm what, young man?" She didn't pull her arm away, but smiled at Richard and chided, "You didn't tell him he was here to end my life or something silly like that, did you?"

"You're elderly," Dean wiped away tears with a trembling hand. "I couldn't possibly do that to you. Isn't it dangerous?"

She laughed. "I have spent year after year witnessing others succumb to cancer and Alzheimer's, but I'm untouched myself. I have grandchildren, young man, and no intention of going soon. I give a little which I can replenish, and you give something back that I need. I know how it works. As long as you stop in time, but Richard here wouldn't let you take too much, so I'm not afraid of that." She sat forward, offering her wrist. "You're a kind man. I'm Elly. Now we are no longer strangers."

Dean, touched by Elly's generosity and honesty, knelt down next to her bed. He could tell that it would be rude to refuse her offer. He took her wrinkled, soft hand in his own and sniffed at her wrist. It was perfumed and the scent made it easy to envision the beauty she must have been at sixteen, at twenty-five, at fifty. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny, sharp attachment that Richard and Lee had given him, and slipped it onto his thumb. With a final look into her eyes, which still appeared resolute, Dean cupped her wrist in his left hand and very carefully—and with no small amount of hesitation—punctured her wrist with the blade.

The quick flow of blood surprised him, but instinct had him immediately sealing his mouth over the wound and sucking. Her blood was not as salty as Rob's. The word _vintage_ came to his mind and it nearly made him chuckle. He didn't take much. He didn't dare. But he'd done it. He'd fed from a willing victim. He hadn't had to trick her, or hurt her. She had wanted him. It made him feel humble, sad and lucky, all at once.

As Richard had instructed, he licked over the wound, being sure to cover it all. He watched in amazement as it vanished almost entirely within a matter of a few moments. "Whoa," he breathed, raising his eyes to meet Elly's. "That was..."

She stared back with dilated pupils and took a moment to snap back to the present. "Ah. This." She looked—there was no other word for it—buzzed. "You are very polite. It's sweet. Keep that, young man, because it's a hard thing to get back when you lose it."

"You should lie down for a bit," Richard warned her. She waved her hand about, but did as he told and requested coffee and a cookie from him from where she lay. Richard and Lee both left for the kitchenette to give Dean some time alone.

"I can tell this is very new to you," she said. "It's okay. I've known what he is for many years now, and I wouldn't have made it this far without his help. I have a great grandchild on the way, you know. I have him or her to live on for. Tell me, do you have anyone to live on for?"

Dean nodded, taking her hand in his yet again. "Aidan. His name's Aidan. He's my..." _best friend, lover, boyfriend_ , "my _everything,_ " he confided in her. "I hope he'll still love me...like this. I'm not sure I want to live a long, long life if I cannot be with him."

"He doesn't know," she deducted without effort, placing her free hand over his. "I have lived a long life and I have seen my share of things that, in hindsight, I probably shouldn't have seen. I know what Richard and his protégé are to each other. I don't judge. There is only one way to find out if he will. You tell him. I remember when I first met Richard. Mr. Pace wasn't with him back then. He could have chosen not to tell me, but he did. Now, I could have run from him and told the world, but I would be turning away from everything he had to offer, and everything that I wanted for myself. We spent a good few years together. I wouldn't trade that for anything."

"I want more than that...more than a few years," Dean told her. "Maybe it's selfish and crazy to think he'll still want me. Maybe it would be cruel to him for me to love him and be like this. But I have to find out."

Dean stood up and gave Elly a kiss on her forehead. "I'd like to come see you again," Dean told her. "Maybe just to talk? I could bring Aidan along. I'm sure he'd enjoy meeting you. Would that be all right, Elly?" 

"Always," she smiled.

Lee came out of the kitchen at that moment, carrying a mug and a cookie dish. They stayed for coffee and a chat. Elly didn't get many visitors, despite her large and growing family, and she became vibrant when she and Richard talked about the past. Lee, although he knew every story by heart, indulged them.

When they left the room, light was already fading from the day. They ate at a fancy restaurant, simply because Richard felt like treating them—he never said that it was also a test for Dean to see how he handled larger crowds—and headed for Aidan's show after that. They had three tickets in the back row.

\- - - - -

Dean had hoped to sit closer to the stage. They could have. But he understood the choice to sit further back where they wouldn't be a distraction to Aidan.

Besides, Aidan's performance was so engaging and evocative. His interactions with his co-star Orlando were entertaining. It didn't matter where an audience member was seated; they'd be helplessly drawn in. Aidan was as amazing as Dean knew he'd be, and he was eager to get backstage and surprise him.

"Do you think," he whispered to Richard as the curtain calls were beginning, "that I could go back to his dressing room?"

Behind his back, Lee looked at him with newfound respect for this unexpected courage, but Richard wondered. "Are you sure you can handle it? We can't be there with you."

Dean nodded. "I want to," he told them. "I _need_ to. I think I'll be okay around him. If worse comes to worse, I'll just run out," he stood up, smiling broadly in anticipation of seeing Aidan after so many days apart. 

He leaned over and gave each of them a short, but meaningful, kiss on the temple, before slipping out the back door of the auditorium and dashing around to the dressing rooms. Aidan's wasn't hard to find. His name was on the white board on the door. Dean entered and was immediately surrounded by Aidan's comforting scent. 

He stood in the center of the room, trying to get his thudding heart to calm down, as he waited for his boyfriend to appear.

Dean had to wait for over fifteen minutes before someone pushed at the door. Aidan had been lingering at the stage, still caught up in how well everything had gone for him that night—again. He had been worried about stepping up as the understudy, but everyone had loved him from the start, and if they didn't, well, it didn't show. He felt like he belonged there. Returning to his dressing room then was more of a retreat away from that success than it was to freshen up.

All that changed when he saw a silhouette waiting for him. For a moment irrational fear gripped Aidan's heart, but then he recognized the shape. "...Dean? Dean, is th—oh, _fuck!_ " Without closing the door Aidan rushed forward and flung his arms around him, grinning like mad. "You! I missed you! Don't ever do that to me again, O'Gorman!"

Dean pulled Aidan tightly against him, one hand buried in his soft hair, breathing in deeply his scent and luxuriating in the perpetual warmth of Aidan's body. "You were incredible tonight, Aidan," he told him, not pulling away. "I watched you from the back row."

"You were—why didn't you tell me? I would have gotten you a front row seat, you asshole." Aidan was vibrant as he pulled away to kiss him properly. He frowned though, moved back to look at him. There was something different about Dean. He couldn't say what it was—Dean still looked and talked the same—yet it was unmistakably there. Like something had brushed away the minor imperfections. He didn’t see any cuts or bruises on Dean’s face. "They said you were attacked. Are you okay now?"

Dean nodded. "Lee and Richard took good care of me. I feel better than I have in a long, long time. Maybe ever," he pulled him down for a kiss, after which he said, "I didn't sit up front because I didn't want to affect your performance. I wanted to see you like anyone else in the theater would. You were magnetic, Aid. I'm so happy for you. So proud!"

Aidan practically beamed. "I—Well, never mind that, you're here!" He was proud of himself too, of course. But all of that mattered so much less than Dean being by his side again. Aidan pushed forward again, his lips now leisurely remapping those of his boyfriend's and backing him up as he licked into his mouth. One hand came up to tangle with his hair at the base of his neck. Aidan couldn't decide if he truly wanted to break that up to ask Dean about what had happened, and so he chose not to just yet. He had missed him terribly. "So you're coming home tonight?"

"Yes," Dean whispered, "please. I've missed you so much, Aidan. I'm so sorry I worried you. It's been horrible not being able to see you," his hand crept up beneath the waistband of Aidan's costume shirt, caressing Aidan's warm back as Dean simply drank him in. He shivered in delight at the proximity. "God, I love you."

"You could have seen me sooner," his boyfriend reminded him without a sting. He took off his shirt like it was the only logical thing to do, but edged them back towards the still open door to at least be granted some privacy. As soon as it slid into its lock, Aidan grinned. "I think this is the part where you take off your shirt too."

"I'm so sorry." Aidan's hair was a mess from taking off the shirt, and Dean lifted a tendril from his forehead, leaning in to kiss the spot. He slipped the sweater and undershirt Richard had purchased for him that afternoon up over his head. He wondered if Aidan would see the differences in him. A burn mark he'd had on his stomach from a poorly handled cigarette in college was now gone. So was the discoloration from a bad sunburn he'd once gotten on his shoulders. "I can't begin to tell you what the past few days have been like, Aidan."

Instead of talking, he drew Aidan against him, nose buried in his friend's soft neck.

Aidan kissed him wherever he could reach him. "I want to hear it. You were just gone, with Richard. I don't know why, but Lee came around and told me it would be fine and I believed him, but if I think about it now, I don't like it when he gets so close to you. Especially if I'm not there." Yet if something had happened, Aidan would know it. It hadn't. Something else had, though he couldn't pinpoint what it was. Stepping back, he hoisted himself up the dressing table, quite unceremoniously pressing his back against the cold surface of the mirror, and bared his neck for Dean, his chest arching forward. "Tell me later. I need you now."

Dean could barely contain his body's urge to leap forward between Aidan's parted thighs, so he didn't bother trying to hold back. His teeth closed readily over Aidan's pulse point, high and behind his ear, and he began sucking a possessive mark there. A growl escaped his throat and his fingers tightened on Aidan's upper thighs, one of them sliding up to cup Aidan's arousal.

"Can we? Are you expecting anyone?" Dean wondered.

The feral sound and odd possessiveness surprised Aidan. "No, no," he shook his head quickly, "expecting nobody." With nearly shaking hands, he pushed the remainder of the costume out of the way, and although he felt as naked as he was under the scrutiny of the man whose bed he had slept in for the past few days for the lingering scent, for lack of having the real thing, he was equal amounts aroused. In fact, everything was strangely sensitive. The faintest brush of hair on skin gave him goose flesh, and Dean's mouth on his neck—god, there was no comparison. He needed him more than he thought possible.

"Kiss me like that," Aidan commanded, and ground his hips up, "right there."

Dean felt the urge to laugh, cry—or both. He wanted to crawl atop Aidan, crawl _inside_ him and possess him from the inside out. "So lovely, Aid," he whispered instead, kissing along the underside of Aidan's jaw and nibbling down his neck. "Want you so bad it hurts."

He wrapped one arm around Aidan's waist and, in an uncharacteristic show of strength, drew their pelvises together so that they touched. He began a slow, sinuous gyration, rubbing his own crotch against Aidan's, driving both of them far too quickly towards climax.

Aidan shook his head. He had never been a greater mess than this. "In me, Dean. You've had me waiting for days, I deserve to have you in me." Dean had always been attractive to him, but what he was feeling now was something else entirely. He needed him like he needed water after days in a desert, and when he didn't get what he asked for immediately, Aidan pushed Dean off of him and turned around to bend over the table. His skin was on fire. "In me. And don't you dare stop."

"Yes," Dean readily agreed, because he had no other words. "Fuck, yes."

His hands scrabbled around on Aidan's make-up table for something to ease their coupling. Finally, he settled on a jar of cold cream.

"This'll be a little chilly at first," he warned Aidan, dipping his fingers into the liquid and soothing Aidan with a hand on his lower back. With little fanfare, he slipped a coated digit inside Aidan's warmth. They both let out a groan at this.

Dean had certainly seen Aidan eager for sex in the few months they'd enjoyed together, but never quite this forward about it. It encouraged Dean as well. 

"Feels like we've been apart forever," he told Aidan, easily adding another finger and scissoring. "I want to make you scream so loud security comes knocking on the door."

"Oh, _fuck_ yes!" Aidan was practically shouting from the mention of it. He had never had Dean this in control, even though he had shown him on several occasions how much he wanted Dean to be. There was something incredibly debauched about the man bossing him about, and him being subjected to that. The cold cream didn't have him twitch. On the contrary, Aidan liked the cool on his overheating system. He didn't care how he looked or sounded.

He just needed him.

Pushing his weight back on the digits was all Aidan could do to get his fix, and it was not enough. "No more stretching," he panted, desperate for the burn, for anything. "Fuck me, all right?"

Dean gave Aidan's ass a playful slap as he withdrew his fingers, and dipped again into the cream to coat his own cock, shivering as the cold substance touched his overheated skin.

With little more preparation, he lined up with Aidan. "Mine," he whispered, breaching him and blanketing Aidan's back with his slighter form as he slid the rest of the way home.

Aidan bucked forward at the most welcome intrusion. His hands clawed at the surface of the table but found no traction there, and sweat-slick skin slipped against the cheap formica. He could only stand there and take what was being dished out, but Aidan loved it. "Fucking yours," came out as a desperate hitch, "harder, dammit!"

He wouldn't admit to it later, but Dean being inside him made his world feel right and real.

Dean's hands closed over Aidan's, interlocking their fingers over the hard surface as he began fucking him, slowly at first, but soon his passion took over and the sound of the table banging against the wall surely had to have been heard well down the hallway.

Dean tilted his hips just so and was rewarded by a mewl of pleasure from the man beneath him. He felt powerful, invincible, in control—and he found he rather liked it.

"Harder!" Aidan cried out now. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, licked his lips, bit on his tongue, but he couldn't kiss Dean from where he stood, he could only take it as it was given. And it was given freely. With every shove his cock was pushed up against the slick, now rattling table. It was too much, crossing his limits by so much, but it was never _enough_. Again and again, Aidan tried to meet with Dean's relentless thrusts. He cried and moaned, unashamed of anything, until quite unexpectedly his body had had enough, and he came hard. 

Stars danced in front of his eyes. Aidan's lips were dry, cracking. He drew in a deep breath, laughed hoarsely, and jutted his hips back up. He didn't know how, but as long as Dean wasn't done, so wasn't his own body.

Dean, senses and emotions heightened from the events of the past twenty-four hours, came immediately after Aidan. His heart pounded with such ferocity he felt it might fly out of his chest. Yet he clung to Aidan—his anchor, his lifeline.

He huffed a happy breath down the back of Aidan's neck, kissing the salty sweaty skin. "Well," he smiled, "we'll sleep like rocks tonight, won't we?"

"After we do that again," Aidan commented lazily. He was coming down from his high languidly, sinking to the floor in a boneless puddle, and only using strength to prop himself up against the wall. Hair clung to his face. "Something's different about you. You've never been so _forward_." If his smirk was anything to go by, Aidan liked it.

"The last few days have been very unusual," Dean reached above him and grabbed a roll of paper towels from the table top. "You're a mess," he smiled affectionately, wiping some of the perspiration from Aidan's forehead and cheeks. "You need a proper shower. We both do."

And yet, Dean's exhaustion was getting the better of him. He lay his head against Aidan's shoulder, the cold from the masonry wall behind him playing counterpoint to his warm skin. "I can't believe we've both realized our dream—leads in two very well-received plays," he reached for Aidan's hand. "I always knew you'd be a stellar leading man."

Aidan simply smiled, too exhausted to do much more for a while. He let his fingers dance across Dean's skin. It was impossible to explain how glad he was for Dean's return. He didn't look physically damaged—he had never looked better—and there were no signs of his other concern, for psychological damage. Dean was perfect. "They all like me," he started. "I thought they'd miss Andrew, but they all genuinely like me. I never expected that. Even the audience isn't disappointed that the man they bought half the ticket for isn't there. It's...humbling. I heard about the National though. How long will it take?"

"It was a real blow to the theater," Dean told him. "Sprinkler systems went nuts. They had to recover all the seats, tear up the lobby carpeting, replace a lot of backstage furniture and curtains due to mildew. Oh, and a lot of the set and costumes were ruined as well. It could be a month or so," he frowned. "But the timing was good. I might have lost my job taking the time to recover that I did."

He didn't mention Rob. He wasn't ready to admit to what he'd done to the man. 

"I'll check the website for empty front row seats as soon as I get home," Dean told him. "I lost my phone in the attack."

He didn't mention that it was irrevocably soaked with blood. Lee, macabre as he was, had snapped a photo on his own camera of what Dean had looked like when they found him. 

He shivered and slipped his arms around Aidan.

Lazy as he was, Aidan forced himself not to be lulled into a sense of ease. He drew him close and kissed his cheek. "So what did happen? They said you were mugged and you needed some time away from me. I couldn't contact you, but you look more than fine now."

Dean swallowed and laid his head on Aidan's shoulder. "I want to tell you everything, but not here," he warned. "At home. When we're alone. It's not something I want anyone to overhear," he added. "Can we go home, Aid? I miss our place."

The question had been asked without pressure behind it, but Aidan frowned now. He didn't like the worry that Dean's words instilled, like he had gotten mixed up with something bad. Loan sharks, that sort of thing. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." Aidan stole another kiss. "In a minute."

Minutes turned into ten before he finally got up to get dressed. Everyone having passed the dressing room would have heard them, and he was sure that he'd get comments about it tomorrow, but there were very few people there when they made their exit, Dean tugged close to Aidan because Aidan didn't want to keep him further from him.

Dean saw Richard and Lee waiting for them in the eaves under the theater when they exited, just enough in the shadows so that Aidan wouldn't notice. Dean raised his hand and smiled, signaling that all was well and he was going to go home. He'd call them tomorrow.

 _Blast!_ After he bought a new phone, of course. The fat wad of 50 and 20 Euro notes Richard had handed over as if it were nothing had a noticeable presence in Dean's normally-empty pockets.

Dean slid his hand into Aidan's as they walked to the Tube, tightening it only slightly when they passed a few darkened alleys along the way. 

Would dark alleys always cause him such dread? Not with Aidan by his side, he reasoned, brushing the thought away.


	14. If I Get To Keep Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan wants to know more about the changes Dean is undergoing, so Dean takes him to see Lee.

They picked up a couple of burgers between the Tube station and their apartment. Both Aidan and Dean were ravenous from their lovemaking. As they sat eating on the couch, Dean tried to gather the courage he needed to explain to Aidan what had happened to him.

The tension was so palpable that when Aidan finished his burger—he could finally afford something decent, although this didn't exactly qualify as such, but he enjoyed indulging himself for once—he took Dean by the hands and pulled him into the blond’s bedroom. He tugged Dean onto the bed, allowing him to lean his head in his lap while Aidan sat with crossed legs.

"Something bothers you."

Dean reached back with one hand and squeezed Aidan’s hand reassuringly. "What happened doesn't trouble me nearly as much as what you'll think when I tell you about it—or if you'll even believe me."

"...Dean," Aidan warned in a loaded whisper, "if you tell me things like that, you're making me assume the worst, and I don't know what the worst is. Just tell me, if you think I need to know about it."

Dean pondered Aidan's statement. _If you think I need to know about it._ Did Aidan need to know this? Could Dean hide what he'd become from the person he lived with and was intimate with? He didn't think so.

"You're a good person, Aidan," he said. "A much better person than I am. I don't want what I'm about to tell you to scare you—or to have it come between us," he worried his lower lip between his teeth, "but I don't want to hide this from you. It's too important—and it's far too strange."

Aidan stilled. "It hasn't got anything to do with Armitage, does it? Please tell me it hasn't got to do with him, or that awful agent of his." He couldn't handle Dean informing him he'd been having threesomes with those guys, or anything related to the man he had kissed off stage since having gotten together with Aidan.

Dean didn't want Aidan thinking he was cheating on him. He hadn't, despite many offers and situations. "It's not what you think. It's nothing you could possibly dream up, Aidan. If you had told me two weeks ago what would happen to me over the past few days, I would have laughed at you. But I'm not laughing now."

He sat up and put a pillow behind his back, leaning against the headboard beside Aidan. "After the show, on that night, I was walking to the Tube station, alone. The street was quiet, but I could hear someone behind me. I didn't make it to the station in time. Someone grabbed me and pulled me into an alley. It was," he paused, stilling the trembling in his voice, "it was Rob, and he had a knife."

"Rob?! The guy that's your understudy?" Aidan stared. He vowed then that if he ever came face to face with Rob again, he would hurt him until a thousand suns couldn't put the light back into his eyes. Rob, the creepy guy who had been ambitious enough to do anything to get on that stage with Richard—his adoration had been obvious—had attacked his boyfriend and pushed him away from him. "Did he hurt you? I thought you got mugged."

"It was worse than just a mugging, Aidan," Dean told him. "I—he—well, I was hurt badly. He had a knife. He sliced my face, over and over. My neck, chest, my hands..." he held up the appendages. "He cut open my eye..." he couldn't mention the tongue. Aidan already looked a bit too green.

"Richard and Lee found me," he said in conclusion, "because you sent them. They took me back to Richard's house."

He paused. This is where things got nearly impossible to swallow.

Aidan couldn't understand it. Dean spoke of a gruesome act that should have mangled him completely. Even if Rob was truly capable of such an atrocity, Dean looked to him like he'd come back from a long holiday—perhaps slightly stressed, but physically balanced. Something was profoundly off. He swallowed. "What happened next?"

"I don't remember everything," Dean told him immediately, "I remember being cold and weak. I was in a lot of pain, and I knew I was going to die." He reached for Aidan's hand. "I remember Richard saying that he could fix me. _Restore_ me. I didn't fully understand what he meant. Not really. But I agreed. All I could think about was you—how I wasn't ready to leave you. I agreed and he..."

Here, Dean paused. He really didn't remember everything, but certain details stuck in his mind. "There was sharp pain in my neck. I think he bit me. And he fed me some of his blood. After that, I can remember it was like falling down a spiral. I was dizzy and I think I stopped breathing for a bit. I woke up in pain. My skin was crawling, itching. But it was healing. My eye had _grown back_ , Aidan. My skin was knitting, and in time, even the smallest traces of what Rob had done...they were gone."

He studied Aidan's face for signs of disbelief or disgust, then he said, "I think he turned me into a vampire."

"...Dean," Aidan bit his lip, "you do know how you sound when you tell me something like that?" Since it was obviously not a joke. Aidan would have laughed and thought it to be funny if at least Dean could give him a smile or indication that he wasn't honest, but no such thing came. Dean had gone with Richard and Lee, and the reason for his absence was an incredible story of mythical creatures. Although Aidan had learned to live with an open mind, he didn't think it was _that_ open. "So you're telling me you have no reflection now?"

"I have a reflection," Dean told him. "When I first got out of bed and looked at myself, there were pieces of my own eye sticking to my face," he shuddered. "And apparently other things we've come to believe about vampires thanks to books and movies, aren't even true. I can go out in the sun. My heart is beating. I don't have to live on blood. But I do have to drink some every now and then to stay healthy."

Dean watched Aidan carefully. "Lee took a picture of me, when I was hurt," he told Aidan. "I haven't looked at it, but he's saving it—in case you require further proof, he said. But, I'm whole, I'm well," he admitted. "Even scars I had from when I was a kid... they're gone. And there's little things, too. My hair's thicker, my eyes are bluer..." his voice trailed off. "And everything smells sharper, too. When I saw you tonight, I could smell that you'd had a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich for dinner."

Aidan stared at him, before suddenly pushing Dean off him and scrambling to the corner of the bed. He _had_ had a BLT in his dressing room without any witnesses. Dean _did_ look sharper around the edges. There was something so fundamentally different about him that Aidan knew he wasn't speaking a lie. But what did that make Aidan? Them? Wide-eyed, he pushed out his legs in front of him, trying to get traction. "That's impossible. Did they make you drink yet?" Was he in danger?

The fear in Aidan's eyes—the rejection—hurt. It rocked Dean to his core, but he tried not to let it deter him.

"I did drink," he told Aidan. "When they found out it was Rob who had hurt me, Lee went after him. He brought him to Richard's place and they kept him there to be my first. I didn't kill him," he added. "I couldn't possibly kill anyone, Aidan. I hope you know that. And I would never, _never_ hurt you."

"Rob? What, with _fangs_?" Aidan shuddered, looking Dean up and down. He didn't know what to do. There was Dean, whom he loved very much, who looked nothing short of angelic—a concerned kind of angelical, admitted, but not with any malice—but then there were his words. Did vampires even exist? They were supposed to be the stuff of legend. And if _they_ existed... "Is he still alive?" he asked. "Please tell me he's alive."

And Richard had to be one of them too. 

And Lee.

"Oh god, how many of you are out there?"

"I don't know how many there are," Dean responded. "I'm only three days old... like _this_." He didn't want to use the word _vampire_ again. He already understood why Richard disliked it so much. "Rob's alive," he assured Aidan. "I asked that he be spared. He's been sent away. He won't be back."

When Aidan didn't respond, Dean continued. "I know this sounds far-fetched, Aidan. I know that. But I'm telling you the truth. I'm here with you because Richard brought me back from the brink of death."

"I... this is a lot, Dean. Tell me what it makes us if you're telling the truth. Are you, you know, immortal or something? What exactly does any of this mean," he chewed on his lip, "you know, for us?"

"It doesn't mean I cannot die," Dean explained. "But Richard and Lee say that I can live a very, very long time. And I won't age." 

At the look of fear and sadness in Aidan's eyes, Dean went on quickly, "I'm telling you this now. Right away. As soon as I was able. I don't want to hide this from you. If not for this, I'd be dead. You'd be lost to me, and I you. From what little I have learned, there are ways we can make this work."

He winced as he said it, for he knew how ridiculous it sounded.

"Well, for a few years," the hopelessness was plain in Aidan's eyes, coming to the realization that Dean was not playing him. Aidan was in love with someone who, from one day to the next, had become frozen in time. His posture slunk. "Then you'll probably be off with him. Or someone else." He had never minded growing older, except he did now that the gap between them would continue to grow bigger and bigger. Nobody could tell what the future brought, he supposed. This, though, this was putting a damned timer on their relationship, an expiration date. Wetness clung to the rim of his eyes. "I don't want to lose you."

"The only way you will lose me," Dean held out his hand to Aidan, "is if you walk away. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right where I want to be."

"Is this where you want to be, Dean? Is it?" Aidan was not sure. Although growing old with Dean as partners hadn't been a prominent feature in his hopes for the future, as he thought it was sentimental and unrealistic, he had still expected him to be there, even just as a friend. "You'll have the privilege to stay exactly where you are and not a fly would hurt you. But you say you need to drink from people—you'd hurt them. What does that mean? Does it mean you need to kill people? Are there other ways? What if you can't find anyone? I mean, I'd be there. And then one day I'll just not wake up. And you'll still have Richard, perfect Richard, who would help you forget about me in a heartbeat. If you _have_ a heartbeat."

Dean certainly had a heartbeat. It thudded in his chest as Aidan's harsh words threatened to break him.

"I know our lives weren't perfect, Aidan. But I love you," he said softly. He wanted to tell Aidan that his thoughts, as he lay dying, had been on Aidan. But the words wouldn't come. Would Aidan even believe him? Did it matter, if they were only destined to grow apart? "And I do have a heartbeat. My heart's beating like mad right now thinking about the prospect of you being afraid of me—rejecting me. But I understand. Aidan, I'll give you all the time you need to think about what I've told you. I'll let you come to me, when you're ready."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded bills, which he knew from counting amounted to about 2,000 Euros. "This is for my share of the rent, or for food, or whatever you need it for." He looked into Aidan's eyes and knew all to well just how easy it would be to compel him to do whatever he wanted. But Dean wanted more. He wanted Aidan to want him.

"You should go to bed," he told him instead. "It's late. I'll clean up a bit and head over to Richard's for a few days. I haven't got a phone yet, but I'll pick one up tomorrow. You can reach me by e-mail, I suppose, when you're ready to talk more."

He waited for Aidan to contradict him or stop him, but Aidan didn't.

Instead Aidan stared at the money. The insult in being offered money was painful and unmistakable. He refused it, pushing it back to Dean. "Don't. I'll get a different apartment if I need to. Don't you dare say you'll pay for me." It felt like he was being thanked for his time and discarded. Richard. That was where Dean was going. Aidan hated him. "Use the money to get a hotel room. Don't even tell me where you got it, I don't want to know. If you want to help, don't return to him."

"I want you to have it," Dean told him. "If I can't be here, the least I can do is pay the rent." _Don't you understand?_ he wanted to tell him, _I'm afraid to be alone right now. I don't trust myself._ He met Aidan's eyes. "Take the money, and use it to pay our bills," he compelled him. 

He waited until Aidan had pocketed the money to start packing his suitcase. Each item of clothing he put inside it felt like a nail in the coffin of their relationship. But he'd given the power to Aidan. He could only hope Aidan would think on what he'd told him and that Aidan would realize he was still just _Dean._

Lost in his corner of the bed, Aidan looked on as Dean got ready to leave. His throat was dry. Everything was just too bizarre, but that didn't make the pain less. "Is that why you kissed him in the first place?" he whispered, needing to know. "I felt the pull in the dressing room. It was new. Is that what happened to you?"

Dean didn't want to talk about Richard, but Aidan wanted answers. "I felt drawn to him. I have since we met. I thought it was some sort of weakness on my part—that inexplicable attraction. But now I know it's just because he has an unnatural allure. So does Lee. So do I now, I suppose. Although right now I don't feel very desirable at all."

"...I love you. But Dean, God, can we not do this? You tell me you're forever going to be like this and you don't contradict me when I ask if you could kill me in my sleep." Aidan felt thin like paper. "Can I just get used to the first while you work on the second, or something? I don't want to just hand you over to him, if that's what you're thinking. If I only get a few years, then I'll bloody well have them."

"I'd never hurt you, Aidan," Dean said sadly, a pair of socks in each hand. "It breaks my heart that you'd even consider that as a possibility. I'm still _me,_ and I love you as much as I ever did." He put the socks down. "I didn't ask Richard to save my life so that I could be with him," his voice trembled and he sat down on the edge of the bed. He felt sick in his stomach. 

"I didn't—" With a sigh Aidan leaned his head back against the wall. It was unfair. "You tell me you're a _vampire_. Tell me what exactly that means, because the only conclusions I can come to are those in which you're some vicious predator and I'm in danger. What's going to change? What happened to Rob?"

"I..." Dean's head was spinning. Aidan had so many questions, and he was still so new to this. He had only half-heard most of what Lee and Richard had told him. His body thrummed with unspent energy. He felt like crying or running away. He took a deep, steadying breath.

"I have to drink blood in order to keep living. I'll know when I'm hungry. I think I'm supposed to have some every two weeks or so. I don't need to kill anyone. In fact, there are people who are _willing_ to feed me. It's an enjoyable experience for some people," he said, remembering Elly's smile that afternoon. "Akin to taking drugs, or having good sex. As far as Rob goes," Dean paused, "Richard and Lee—they _know_ people. They sent him away." He didn't want to say that he'd been _sold._ It sounded too nefarious. "He's alive, Aidan, but he won't be coming back. I'm not cold, and I do have a pulse," he concluded. "Come, feel," he encouraged Aidan.

Hesitant though he was at heart, his boyfriend pushed that feeling far to the back of his mind. He crept closer on the bed to sit opposite him, and finally carefully moved his hand to Dean's wrist. It did beat. There was a surety in the constant pulse. It wasn't extremely fast or slow, but it told of not going out. Then he frowned. "So if you feed on people, whoever they are, it's as good to them as having sex with you?"

"Richard said that there are people who really get off on it," he took Aidan's hand and moved it from his wrist to his chest, flattening it over his heart. "You see? Still beating. For you."

Dean wanted desperately to take Aidan in his arms again, but he allowed Aidan the distance he needed. "I still have questions, too," he told Aidan. "I have a lot to learn. But I do know I'm not a killer. I never was, and I never could be. But when you are ready to speak to someone more knowledgeable, we can talk to Lee. He's been like this for over a hundred years, he says."

"A hundred—okay. Sure." Aidan spoke like he probably hadn't heard the best part yet. He was trying though. "This is a little much to process. Tomorrow? Just stay here tonight. I can sleep in my own bed. In fact I'd like to sleep in my own bed tonight, but I don't want you out the door. Unpack, please?" His hands were shaking. Tomorrow, they could get answers. Not that he trusted Lee all that much, but there were boundaries to be crossed or be left behind.

"I'll stay," Dean assured him. He doubted he would get much sleep though. "I know you don't have much love for Lee. I didn't think much of him myself until a few days ago. He nursed me back to health. He's been incredibly kind to me. Like a different person." He cupped Aidan's face in both hands. "I love you. Sleep on it, okay? We can talk more in the morning."

"I won't get much sleeping done," Aidan admitted with a hint of...well, it wasn't a smile, but it was closer to that than it was to hopelessness. "This is all really weird."

They had had sex, he remembered. Dean had already been like this. He had been around most of his main arteries with his mouth plenty of times and he hadn't done anything. Still, Aidan needed to get used to the other thought as well. That of longevity. "I'm going to try to sleep. If you need to talk to me, you'll know where to find me."

Dean nodded. "All right, Aid. I'm going to take a shower, then I'll work on my script for a bit." He leaned over and kissed Aidan on the forehead and looked him in the eyes, pushing an errant curl away with a finger. "You're a lot more tired than you think," he smiled. "You’ll probably go right to bed and sleep all night."

Aidan shook his head, but for some reason he liked Dean talking to him so confidently. He leaned in to kiss him on the cheek and got up, asking, "You do sleep at night, don't you?" as he slunk back to the door.

Dean nodded. "I slept for almost 48 hours after they found me and turned me. I don't need quite as much sleep as before, but I still need to sleep. At night. And not in a coffin," he smiled sadly as Aidan turned to go.

"Good," Aidan said gently. "No coffin." He left Dean there and retreated to the kitchen for some hot chocolate. A few minutes later he went into his own abandoned room, locked the door after hesitating, and fell back on the bed.

Vampire.

Wasn't that bizarre?

Dean turned out to be right. Forgetting to call Adam to cancel their plans to go out and get some distraction, he closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.

The click of Aidan's bedroom door lock reverberated through the apartment. The sound spoke volumes. 

_I shouldn't have told him,_ Dean lamented. After he was certain Aidan was sleeping, he got up and spent a few hours cleaning the apartment until every surface gleamed and the place smelled much more like antiseptic and a lot less like the man he loved. 

He got out his script and spent a few minutes reading on his bed until his eyes grew blurry with tears. Finally, he gave up and stared out at the window as pink began to touch the sky. He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he heard Aidan puttering around in the kitchen.

The morning was cool and overcast, and Aidan had draped a wooly scarf around his neck as he made his way around the cabinets for food. The flat was amazingly—and scarily—clean. It didn't feel like their place anymore, though it was nice to cook on a clean surface for once. Fixing some tea and toast, Aidan knocked on Dean's door without knowing he was already awake. "Uh, breakfast?" he said. Dean ate breakfast, didn't he?

Dean uncurled, yawning hugely. "Sounds good," he lied. "I cleaned last night," he stated the obvious. "Couldn't sleep."

Aidan opened the door. He handed the plate and the mug over, and stepped back until he was in the doorway again. He wasn't sure they were good. "I slept like a log, like you said. I didn't think I would."

Dean sat the plate and tea on his dresser. "It's not surprising, considering all the effort you put into your performance night after night," Dean told him, "or the exhausting athletics in your dressing room." He smiled. "Did you eat already?"

Aidan shook his head. He went back to the kitchen to fetch his own plate and returned to Dean's room, leaning against the wall to eat. "Did you hear anything about Adam? I was supposed to get a drink with him yesterday, but I forgot to call. He didn't come knocking, did he?"

"He didn't show up or call," Dean told him. "I ran into him yesterday in front of the National. We're having drinks today at two. You should come along."

"I want to see Lee first," Aidan replied over his dull plain toast. "Sorry." With a whole level of awkwardness he stepped forward to sit next to Dean. "I don't want to feel like this around you."

Dean raised his eyebrows. _Now_ Aidan wanted to see Lee? He loathed Lee. He had made that perfectly clear after that fateful visit to Richard's house. But clearly Aidan needed answers. And if that helped him trust Dean again, he was all for it.

"All right," he agreed. "I have his business card in my wallet. We can call him—whenever you like. Do you plan to go alone?"

"Well, you're coming with me, aren't you? I'm going to see him because of you, what you..." _are_. Have become. "I'd love to see Adam but I'd rather be able to look at you better." They both knew that right now, Aidan had trouble keeping his eyes on Dean for long before being reminded of the obstacle between them.

"Of course I'll go with you," Dean was instantly agreeable. Even with the kindness Lee had shown him over the past few days, he still didn't like the idea of him being alone with Aidan. "I'm still _me_ , Aid. Despite a few changes, I'm still the same man I always was."

"I know." With a passive-aggressive bite at the last bit of toast, Aidan bumped shoulders with him. "I want this away from where it stands between you and me. Apparently, you're some creature of legend but not _according to legend_. I just need to know what you are first. Can you give me the time for that?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Absolutely. Because, to be honest, I've been so dazed the last 72 hours or so, I've hardly internalized anything they've told me. I'm sure there's plenty he can teach me too." Dean got up and went to the dresser and opened his wallet, pulling out Lee's business card. He handed it to Aidan. "Call him. I know he'll be thrilled to hear from you," he rolled his eyes playfully. But he wasn't jealous. He wanted the two of them to become friends.

Aidan rolled the card between his digits. Not keen on calling Lee despite wanting answers, he stalled until he really had to do something. So finally he got out his phone, and tossed the wad of papers that he'd been given the night before back to Dean. "Buy yourself a phone at least?"

Then he pressed the phone against his ear. The response was unbalancing swift. Christ. "Lee? Hi, it's uh, it's Aidan."

A warm chuckle tickled his ear. "Mr. Turner," Lee sounded genuinely pleased to hear from him. "What brings you to be calling?" Lee knew. Of course he knew, but he needed to hear it. He needed to know if he was preparing Dean for victory or disappointment. 

Aidan pulled his guts together. "Hi. I need answers. I mean, I've got questions, and you're supposed to hold the answers. You know about what. Are you free today?"

"I am absolutely free today," Lee told him, pushing his coffee aside. "If I wasn't, I'd cancel my plans for you. Would you like to come to my home?" he gave the address. Aidan recognized it as a very well-to-do neighborhood. "Come anytime. Bring an open mind. You have nothing to fear from me, Aidan."

Dean watched the conversation expectantly.

"Can Dean come?" Aidan tried. His voice didn't show the scowl on his face. Clearly Lee still harbored special thoughts for Aidan, because he definitely recognized the height of his own priority to Richard's agent.

Dean didn't look like that was his plan though, so Aidan groaned. "Yes, fine, alone. In a few hours?"

"Yes of course Dean must come. He is my brother now—the only brother I have ever been blessed with. I look forward to teaching you both...And, my dear friend, there is so much to learn." Lee sounded very warm and excited. "Come anytime," he added, then hung up.

The phone dropped out of Aidan's hand like it was dowsed in poison. Oh, Lee had a way of freaking him out. "Cordially invited, both of us. Something about him calling you a brother is really awkward, you know. We're just going there to learn about you, got that?" Lee definitely still wanted Aidan, though Aidan did have to admit that he sounded nicer than he had before.

"Since Richard turned us both, by vampire standards, it makes us brothers, of sorts," Dean remembered Lee saying something to that effect the day before. "That actually has comforted me over the past few days. I guess it seems silly to you."

It was all silly, if Aidan looked at things through an ordinary lens. "If that makes Richard your dad, I can live with that," he tried to lighten the mood. "I'm going there, if you're okay with it. And then we're buying you a phone and you stop offering me money for the rent, and just return here every night. I like how that sounds."

Dean reached for Aidan's hand, interlacing their fingers. "Yes," he agreed. "Here with you. That's exactly what I want, Aidan."

\- - - - -

Dean had walked past One Hyde Park a handful of times since moving to London, but he never imagined going inside, let alone knowing someone who lived in one of the luxury apartments. But that was exactly where Lee made his home—on the 20th floor. 

Getting inside was very much like the security check to tour Parliament. They were body scanned and patted down by two guards prior to being allowed inside the elevator, where they were escorted to Lee's flat.

"Mr. Pace?" the security guard pushed the button of the intercom outside Lee's door, "your guests have arrived."

"Thank you, Lawrence," they heard Lee respond, "you can let them in."

The door swung open soundlessly and Lawrence gestured for Aidan and Dean to enter.

"This is..." Dean was at a loss for words as he turned slowly in a circle, taking in the luxury of Lee's home.

"I had the same reaction the first time I walked inside," Lee greeted them with a smile, and he drew Dean into his arms, hugging him warmly. "Aidan," he turned to the brunet, and offered him the same treatment, should he accept it. "I'm glad you've come. It's a big step."

"Your door was a big step!" Aidan couldn't help but gape back at the door, which had closed behind them already. On his other side spread the view over the park and that which lay beyond. He spun around several times taking it all in. "I didn't expect you to be this...rich. Armit—Richard lives in less of a palace than he could be, isn't he?" For a moment he was simply distracted.

But Aidan slowly came back to his senses. As opposed to Richard's pristine flat, there were elements of the wild everywhere. Or rather, animistic. An alabaster statue of a satyr graced one corner, and there were tribal influences everywhere. Most of the materials seemed to be either wood, stone, or bone. Nothing was made of metal. It could have looked like a museum, but it ended up looking homey. Like they were in North Africa, some two millennia ago.

Two glasses of orange juice were placed on a Moroccan-style table. Aidan sat down, because he didn't know what to say. It all slightly overwhelmed him.

"It's one of the benefits of having been alive for so many years. I've accumulated a great deal of wealth—through various means," he confessed. "But everything given to me was given, more or less, willingly. You will see, Dean. You too shall have whatever it is you want. You need only ask."

"My needs are pretty simple," Dean said quietly. "I want to be happy, comfortable. I want to be with Aidan."

"But you see," Lee told him, "those are short term goals for men who live short term lives. Eventually you'll want more. Especially if..." but he didn't finish the sentence. "Aidan was listening too closely and with so little knowledge, both of them were still at a dangerous place. "Your tastes will change over time, is what I meant to say," he smiled. 

"I am right here." Aidan glared at them. He had a seat by himself, and he suddenly felt very alone in this house that was out of the grasp of time. "I'm not here to listen to you talk about the future," he said coldly. "I'm aware that I won't be in it eventually. What he does after I'm gone is what he does after I'm gone. There's no need to talk about him developing different tastes until he does, now is there?" Coming here was already a mistake.

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Lee silenced him with a raised hand. _Let me,_ the gesture implied. He approached Aidan's chair—a supple calf's leather armchair—and knelt before him, pulling his phone from his back pocket. He pushed a few buttons.

"This is what Dean looked like when we found him in the alley," he said softly, using two fingers to zoom in on the damaged wreck of Dean's face. The flash reflected luridly on the spilled blood. "And this," Lee went on, long finger elegantly flipping to the next photo, "is how he looked in Richard's bed when Richard was telling him that he had a choice whether to live or die."

Dean's blood was everywhere, his face, neck and hands carved up nearly beyond recognition. Aidan made a sick, helpless noise, but didn't look away, so Lee flipped to the next photo. "This is Dean twenty four hours after Richard turned him. And forty-eight." The next two photos showed marked improvement in Dean's condition.

"He'd have died if we found him only moments later. He'd have bled out," Lee explained. "If he had asked us to take him to the hospital, we would have. But, as you can see, he would have been badly, badly scarred. He would been without an eye. And," Lee paused and added, "Rob had cut out his tongue."

" _Enough,_ Lee," Dean said, voice tight. "He gets it."

Aidan did. After Lee removed the pictures from his sight, they continued to be there in Aidan's head. It looked worse than he had thought. Perhaps one terrible scar. Possible blindness due to an eye wound. Not like he had been mangled through a meat grinder, with his features barely discernible. Without dignity.

"Rob. Tell me where he's gone. He doesn't deserve to live."

"Death would be a mercy compared for what he's in for," Lee assured him. "On that you must bank, Aidan. To be fair, Dean should have killed him, but he hadn't the stomach or the heart for it. He's a good, good man. And he'll be a fair and noble vampire." 

These words rolled over Dean like waves in the ocean. One glimpse, even a small one, of the wreck that had been his face and he was back in that alley—and the pain was all too real again. He hugged himself. "A stronger man—a better _vampire_ —" he lamented, "might have been able to seal the deal. Then maybe the nightmares would stop."

"Little brother," Lee poured a generous glass of wine and handed it to Dean, "you need never fear him again."

It was with a feeling of being put on the sidelines that Aidan looked on at the exchange between them, clutching his ordinary glass of orange juice with a lack of flair. He was here for answers, he thought dishearteningly, yet Lee had only been underlining Dean's new being and all the possibilities that it held from the moment they had walked through the door. He was beginning to feel more and more like a jealous, grumpy partner in a relationship in which the other person could have done so much better. He hated feeling like that. Aidan wasn't depressed or prone to making things harder than it was, but it seemed he had done little else since they had gotten together, and he was starting to doubt whether answers about Dean would make him feel better about it. The only reason he was here was because at least Dean kept insisting that his own condemning thoughts were wrong, and that Dean did want to have him stick around.

"So," he started, flattening his lips while his discomfort became obvious. "He's a vampire now. Considering that I'm intending to have him for as long as I can, taking into consideration that that's probably only a few years, I'd like to know the rules. You drink blood. How frequently? How desperately? Can any of this put me in danger?"

Dean took a tentative sip of the wine, followed by several more generous ones. 

"Oh Aidan," Lee smiled at him with the patience reserved for a small child. "There is so much you both need to know. I suppose by now you've figured out that not everything that Anne Rice and Bram Stoker have written, and not everything you see in the movies or on TV is true about us. You walked here in the daylight and Dean didn't disintegrate before your very eyes. And he, despite his attractiveness, definitely does not _sparkle._ "

This brought a chuckle even from Dean.

"We do have reflections and we can be photographed. Holy water, garlic, silver—they are no more harmful to us than they would be to you. We don't have to sleep during the day, and most assuredly not in coffins. But the feeding," Lee sighed, "well, that _is_ a necessity. A disciplined vampire can go two weeks without feeding, if he chooses to, for we take as much pleasure from regular cuisine as a normal person. But in order to keep from aging and to maintain our accelerated cell growth, we must feed on warm, human blood at least bi-weekly. If Dean doesn't feed, he'll begin to feel tired, he'll grow listless, pale and weak. It's very much like dehydration. Eventually, however, he'd simply be unable to move or speak until he was fed.

"Feeding," Lee got up and stepped to the window, "is not necessarily the gory process you've seen portrayed in the movies. While our canine teeth can be a tad sharper than the average person, they do not grow to fantastic, fang-like length and allow us to tear into flesh. When we feed, we usually have to make a small incision and suck from it. There is a very strong portion of the population that is aware of us, and enjoy having us feed upon them. Many say the sensation is very pleasurable—akin to an orgasm, but more centered in the brain than in the body.

"Some vampires compel their victims into being fed on. Others, like Richard, prefer to seek out willing vessels who enjoy the process. We try not to hurt them at all, if we can help it. And we are not murderers. It is not necessary—ever—to drain a victim dry, no matter how long you have gone without feeding," he told Dean, who nodded.

Then Lee turned back to Aidan. "Would you like to see how it feels, Aidan, to be fed upon?"

"Of course not," huffed Aidan, who felt like he wasn't taken seriously by either of them. They were two of a kind, the men in front of him, and they apparently banded together because of that. Though he had to admit he was curious about how it would be. Especially if it were comparable to an orgasm and Dean was to be expected to perform it on strangers from here on out. "...A bit. How do I know I'm not here for you to feast on, or whatever? You'd probably say anything for blood."

"That's simply not true," Lee told him. "And if you truly believe that of this man," he gestured at Dean, who was having a hard time hiding the fact that Aidan's words were wounding him, "then he doesn't deserve you." Lee huffed. "My life is little different than yours, Aidan Turner, other than the fact that I need blood, occasionally, to survive. You are not here to _be our lunch,_ " his lips curled in distaste at the phrase. "You're here because you asked to be here. In an ideal world, as his lover, you would become the sole provider of blood for Dean. Would you let us show you if it were _him_ feeding on you instead of me?"

Aidan moved his weight back against the pillows uncertainly. "...Maybe. If it were him. If that means I get to keep him. But you just said his tastes will change, didn't you?" It had basically been implying that Dean find someone else, someone better. It made sense that Lee would tell Dean that, too. Aidan could still sense an interest coming from the man. "Is it like the stories? Or is it easy to stop? Are you aware and in control of yourself when you drink someone's blood? What could I do if I wanted him to stop?"

_If I get to keep him._ The words niggled in Dean's brain. As if he were some sort of stray dog found in the street. As if he had no choice. As if what he wanted didn't even matter.


	15. Before You Tear Yourself To Shreds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee mediates Aidan and Dean through a crisis. Then, they make up. :)
> 
> Warning: Bloodplay. Lots of it.

Lee, as if he could sense Dean's turmoil, asked Aidan, "Do you love him? Do you trust him now? Because he's still the same man now as he was before. If you could trust him then, you can trust him the same now. If you want him to stop, you ask. It's that simple. He's not going to go into some uncontrollable frenzy and bleed you dry. It's just not in his nature."

Dean, meanwhile, sat aside his empty wine glass with a sick feeling in his stomach. He had come here with Aidan hoping for resolution, for answers that might set Aidan's mind at ease. Instead he felt like some sort of wild animal—a dog in a shelter—whose fate was being decided by others.

But he didn't speak. Anything he said now was crucial. And he didn't want to fuck it up.

"It was wrong of me to project my feelings onto Dean," Lee explained. "I was always a man with wanderlust. So easily bored. So hard to satisfy. And my curiosity in the world only multiplied since I was turned. Please, don't confuse me with Dean. He's a different man. He's _yours._ Surely you know him better than anyone."

"But I can't trust him." Aidan trembled, fighting back that tell-tale lump in the throat and stinging behind his eyes. "That's the whole problem. I love him so much, but I can't trust him to look at just me. Not after what happened with Richard. Sorry, but you must have heard." He bit his lip and looked at Dean. "You say you love me, and I believe you do, but I'm so afraid that one day you'll just...think you can do better and leave me. And now there's this. It's adding to the stack against us every day. One day I'm not going to be enough for you. I've known it since you started to be John. And I'm terrified of that day."

Dean felt as if there were ants crawling in his veins. He wanted to stand up and run away. But he didn't. He couldn't. 

"I'm sorry I've made you feel this way, Aidan," he said softly. "But I thought we were past this. I was dying, and when Richard gave me a choice, I chose to stay—to be with you. If I had known I'd be coming back to more of this doubt and rejection," he blinked and a tear ran from each eye, "I wouldn't have. I would have rather he let me die. Your words," he sniffed, "they're killing me all over again. I'm alive because I want _you_ , Aidan. I don't know what more I can do to prove myself!"

Lee watched the exchange, unsure which outcome to fight for. He would have been happy enough simply to bring Dean into his own home and teach him, protect him. And _yet._

"What _does_ he need to do, Aidan?" Lee asked him. "What does he need to do that he hasn't already?"

"I don't know." Aidan found himself with tears in his eyes now too. "I never meant to feel this way. I'm doing all I can. I _want_ to be able to trust you. It's just, Richard is everywhere. There are more and more factors every day, and now there's this too. Dean, I'm glad you are still here. Please don't think I want you away from me, because I don't. But I feel like I'm battling a flood here. First Richard, and now you stopping aging." He never wanted Dean to think he should have chosen death. Never. "It's not even your fault. It's just my stupid head, thinking stupid things." Insecurity. "You're bloody perfect. And so is he. So is Lee. But I'm not."

"Yes you are," Dean rose and went to his side, kneeling before him. "You _are_ perfect, Aidan. Do you at least trust my love for you? Do you believe it's real?" He leaned forward into Aidan's lap, cupping Aidan's face in both hands, smoothing tears away with his thumbs. "You make me so happy, Aid."

"Of course I believe it's real." That was what was so messed up about it. Dean loved Aidan as much as Aidan loved him. But still things managed to come between them. "Look, I know I can trust you. It just...it's stupid, but sometimes I feel like everything is about keeping us apart. Richard shouldn't have kissed you. I get why you returned it now, I do, but he broke something when he did."

Dean was Richard's progeny now. He felt a strong debt to the man. He owed him his life. And he still felt a strong tug of attraction for him. In fact, it was stronger now than ever. But that lusty yearning did not come close to Dean's feelings for Aidan. Bone deep, he was in in love with his friend. And he was in full mourning for Aidan now. He couldn't bear the idea of watching him grow old before his eyes.

"Let Richard turn you," he beseeched Aidan, taking his hands and squeezing them and pouring out the request in the deepest recesses of his heart. "Come with me."

Aidan's eyes searched his. "You'd want that?" He wasn't sure if he wanted it, himself, but it was the thought that made all the difference. Aidan swallowed. With great care did he expose his throat at last. "No turning. Just show me how it feels."

With that, Dean pulled away. He simply couldn't hurt Aidan. Not right then. "I..." He turned to Lee. 

"He feels he's hurt you enough today, I think," Lee put down his glass and stepped closer. "Perhaps I could be the one instead. Dean could stand by, ensure we don't go any further than you want me to. He could protect you. Would that work for you?"

Lee didn't mention that, if it really came to that, Dean could do little to stop him. He was still too young and not as strong. 

"Aidan?" Dean's eyes sought his. "Are you sure you want to do this at all?"

A faint nod was his answer. Aidan kept his eyes locked on his boyfriend's for reassurance, his head tipped back for Lee. "I could be the only one. I'd prefer you feeding on only me, so I need to know if it's something I can do. Do it."

"First," Lee slipped with feline grace onto the arm of the chair, "I need to know something about you. Are you the kind of man who likes a little pain...or would you prefer that it not hurt?"

"...If they're both an option, why would you need to ask?"

Dean blushed and looked away, but Lee chuckled warmly. "Because I like you, Aidan. I want to make this as nice for you as possible. So, I ask again, what will it be? Do you want it to hurt a little?" 

Dean reached for Aidan's hand. "Whatever you want," he assured him. "I'm here."

Aidan squeezed his hand in affirmation. He didn't avert his eyes to Lee when he brought his free hand up to rub away drying tears. Instead he looked down with a flush spreading on his cheeks—it was an intimate thing to ask—and muttered, "Just a little bit. To remind me I shouldn't like this too much."

Not with anyone but the man holding his hand.

His heart pounded in his throat. No move was made to pull away however, and Lee was free to show him. Aidan's next words were only for Dean. "I love you."

Dean smiled softly at Aidan's request and nodded to Lee. Had Aidan looked closely he would have seen bits of red creeping into the cerulean of Dean's eyes.

"Relax then," Lee cooed, meeting eyes with Aidan. "It won't hurt much, I promise. And it won't leave a mark. Just go with it and try not to be afraid. No one here wants to harm you, beautiful boy."

He leaned over then and slipped a hand up along Aidan's chest to his neck. Dean could see the small silver thimble with its razor sharp edge coming dangerously close to Aidan's soft throat. It both thrilled and terrified him.

"Do it," he whispered, thumb caressing the back of Aidan's hand. 

Lee chuckled, and with a flick of his thumb opened up an inch long incision on Aidan's neck, a few inches below his left ear. Blood instantly welled up to the surface and Lee leaned in to lap at it.

The world tipped sideways for Aidan. When he looked up and out the window, he had a vague sense that he was in a movie and the field of depth of his camera was expanding to take in all of the scenery, only to shift back again to the range of fine lines in the glass and no further.

Lee's mouth against him was obscene, but Dean's hand was his lifeline. He held it firmly, long after his lips parted and he heaved in a deep breath for oxygen. His lips were parched and swollen with moisture at the same time. Aidan had forgotten that a man was tapping from his life reserves. Instead he pulled Dean to his feet and looked up at him with begging eyes. "Kiss me."

With a possessive growl, Dean practically shoved Lee aside and straddled Aidan's lap, licking feverishly into his mouth and stealing away any air Aidan might have been able to acquire. He kissed him hungrily, the scent of blood high in his nostrils.

"How did it feel?" he whispered, pulling away and studying Aidan's face. "Did it hurt? Did it feel good?"

Looking on, Lee chuckled, shifting to accommodate his erection.

"Good," Aidan said hungrily. His world was a blur. Were he capable of rational thought, he would not be doing this. He would condemn himself later for his actions, but Aidan didn't think about it now. His blood was on fire and it was distracting him. He senselessly stretched out a hand to draw Lee back to his neck for more of it, all while kissing Dean with a passion.

Lee had but a scant moment to lock eyes with Dean and raise his eyebrows in a _you can thank me later_ gesture, before Aidan's insistent hand pulled his face none to gently back to his neck. Aidan's blood held notes of spice and was rich in iron. He was young and strong—at his physical prime. And he was delicious. It would be so easy to feed until he was more than sated. But Lee knew how to stop himself.

And a few moments later he did, licking the small cut thoroughly to heal it quickly. "So now you see how it feels to be fed on by someone you can barely tolerate," he whispered in Aidan's ear. "Now, imagine if the person you were nourishing were Dean. And imagine him fucking you, or you him, while it was done."

Dean's eyes betrayed his bloodlust and he shot to his feet. "I...I have to..." he hurried from the room. He had to get away before he acted on his baser impulses.

"Did it hurt?" Lee asked Aidan, carefully watching for signs of fear or discomfort.

Aidan's curls shook in the negative. His eyes were wild, his breathing erratic. The idea that Dean could be doing this while inside of him...

"Sorry," he said, and followed Dean out of the room, leaving Lee to sit alone. Aidan wasn't appalled by him anymore. Sure, that might change if Lee continued to try and impress him with his flirtatious but poor one-liners. Not that it mattered now. Aidan knocked on the door of the room he knew Dean had hidden himself. For all he cared, Lee wasn't even in the apartment. "Open up," asked he. God, he wanted him. "Please, let me see you. Are you okay?"

A moment passed before Dean dared open the door. When he did, he couldn't quite meet Aidan's eyes. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of a king-sized bed.

Between his legs was where Aidan knelt down. Worry mingled with euphoria. "He didn't hurt me. Dean, I don't understand. You showed me how it could be, and it was amazing, but then you ran. Did I do something wrong? If I did, I'm really sorry. Please, look at me."

"No, it's me," Dean said quickly. "I got too excited, and didn't want to do anything stupid. I'm not sure how to control it yet." He raised his eyes to Aidan and the brunet could see a corona of red ringing the azure irises. "See? It happens when I get hungry. But I don't think I'm hungry for blood. Not really. It was just really hard watching him do that to you."

"...Sorry." Aidan looked down. Lee had been with his lips against his throat. He hadn't considered it before then—of course something like that would be difficult for Dean. Aidan didn't know what compelled him next. He rose to his knees and stretched the expanse of his neck bare before Dean's mouth. Adrenaline rushed through him. "I want to know how it feels when you do it."

Dean shook his head, as he was unable to back away. "I shouldn't. Lee already took from you. It could make you weak, dizzy. I won't do that to you, Aidan," he insisted. "You have a show to do tonight. You need your strength."

And yet, he leaned forward, scenting along Aidan's neck, nuzzling through the stubble and over the spot where Lee had fed. Aidan's pulse beckoned him. He longed to replace Lee's smell with his own. The urge was primal, foreign to him.

"Not today," he whispered, drawing Aidan into his arms, and up onto the bed next to him. "Lay with me."

They were both in a bed that wasn't theirs, with the owner politely staying out. Aidan didn't want to think about tonight or any obligations. He stubbornly crawled atop Dean to straddle him where he lay, and began pushing his shirt up. "He didn't take much. It felt so good, Dean. Even if it was Lee, I want to feel it again."

Aidan so was prominently aroused when he ground down that it shut out logical thought. "Want me to call him in to stop you before you go too far?"

The idea of Lee watching them being intimate was more prohibitive than what Dean might accidentally do. He shook his head. "Nngh, _god_ ," he groaned. "It's too soon," he told Aidan. "Not safe for you."

But warm hands rucking up his shirt were pushing him in the completely opposite direction.

"You said it wouldn't be hard to stop," Aidan used Lee's words against Dean, "that there wouldn't be any danger. I trust you with this." It was remarkable what desire could do because rationally, Aidan was only just starting to get used to the idea.

"It's not hard for _Lee_ to stop," Dean told him. "He's been doing this for over a hundred years. "But I'm new at it. Very new. And I should only be feeding when I'm hungry, Aidan. Please," he whispered, "just let me take care of you. Let me help you with this," he cupped Aidan's denim-clad erection. "Let me taste you."

They were on a stranger's bed, and yet Aidan unzipped his jeans and undid the button. It was madness. Worse, Lee would love it if he knew. Aidan partly suspected that he did, or he would have shown himself already. He followed up on his actions by undoing the top of Dean's jeans and drawing out his erection. "It'll be so much better with you."

"I'll need to practice first," Dean bit his lower lip and was surprised when it drew blood. As his face moved closer and closer to Aidan's crotch, he again marveled at how sharp his sense of smell was since his transformation. To be honest, he felt little different internally, mentally. But his senses were so strong it was nearly overwhelming.

Aidan smelled of precum and musk, soap and cologne. Dean licked a stripe up from the base of Aidan's dick, careful to keep his teeth away from it. All the while, he couldn't help but wonder how it might feel to feed here, at the juncture of Aidan's thighs, maybe an inch or two from his testicles—the smell of him all around.

He moaned in pleasure, tightening his fingers on Aidan's thighs, taking him into his mouth.

Aidan had made up his mind: Dean was going to practice on him. He didn't want him doing this on others when it had such a strong effect on him, and Dean still needed to learn, to grow stronger. Falling back on the bed, he allowed Dean all the access he could want, shamelessly writhing and tangling the sheets. At the height of his passion, he chewed at his nail and tore off an edge for sharpness, before scratching a wound on his wrist and bringing that hand to card through Dean's hair. A droplet fell into the flat of his stomach. The pain of the throbbing line was oddly erotic.

Dean's head shot up at the sharp, coppery smell. "Aidan..." his voice held a note of warning. Yet he rose to chase after the drop. After that first, forbidden sample, he reached for Aidan's wrist, licking over the wound. "Don't do that to yourself, okay?" he said. "Promise me you won't cut yourself, or anything crazy, Aidan."

He drew Aidan's injured wrist into his mouth, sucking on it and healing the torn skin there as well. "Let me do it," he suggested, "before you tear yourself to shreds."

As Lee recommended, he took his own thumb thimble, still in its velvet pouch, out of his back pocket, and slipped it on in full view of Aidan. "This makes a clean cut. It's deadly sharp." His eyes raked over Aidan from head to toe. "Where do you want it?"

The thimble looked menacing, and for a moment Aidan considered whether this was truly what he wanted. Then he groaned in a new wave of desire, "Neck."

His wrist was already healing. The wound tingled like he had just run a few miles, and the ghost of Dean's lips haunted Aidan's thoughts. The idea to have those lips on his neck was enough for Aidan to almost come. He had forgotten about Lee as he bared his neck once again. Aidan was beginning to realize he was more of a threat to Dean's restraint than Dean himself. "Do it. I want it."

Dean nodded nervously. He was sure Aidan must notice how much his hands were shaking—but hopefully he associated it with passion and not the fear of going too far.

He locked eyes with Aidan, "This will hardly hurt at all," he assured him. "I love you so much, Aidan. Please don't forget that."

He knew better than to aim for the jugular, so he leaned in and nicked the slightest bit under Aidan's jawline, while his other hand caressed his erection. The incision was tentative and did little damage, so he pressed a bit deeper. Crimson liquid came to the surface then, and Dean readily latched his mouth over it, climbing atop Aidan, legs straddling his hips.

Within two seconds, Aidan had pushed his jeans down to his knees between their bodies. He didn't take the trouble of extending the courtesy to Dean, for his body doubled back and his skin stood taut as soon as Dean's tongue came into contact with his blood. An unearthly sound ruptured from his throat. The world spun when he opened his eyes, but in a _good_ way. "More," he panted. Dean could plunge a knife into his chest and Aidan would still get off on it, now.

The taste of Aidan was pure heaven; the smell intoxicating. It would have been so very easy for Dean not to stop—to drink his fill until his stomach was bloated. But this was his best friend, the man he loved. Someone he would both kill and die for.

With a barely-disguised groan of protest he pulled away at last. "Gotta stop," he whispered, licking over the wound, Aidan's come coating his hand when he did so. "Mmm, Aidan, I think that was enough, don't you?"

His boyfriend's head lolled back with glassy eyes in response. Aidan gasped. He sounded like a creature with torn vocal cords. He had never felt this physically spent—this physically _weak_.

"Aid?" Dean caressed Aidan's face, concerned when he didn't respond. "Aidan?!"

"Hng." Aidan couldn't move. "Food." Or at least, he thought that would help. It was the same feeling as not having eaten for too long, only then amplified. He could barely keep his eyes open though. That was new.

Dean was terrified. Quickly, he pulled up his pants. "I'll be right back," he kissed Aidan on the forehead, pulling a blanket up over him. 

"Lee!" he called, bursting out of the bedroom.

Three steps from the bedroom, Lee stepped in front of him, stopping Dean short. He handed him a small bottle of orange juice. "Is he decent?" With a nod, he then ushered Dean back into the bedroom and followed him in. Lee made no pretenses about not knowing exactly what they had been up to, but he was down to business as soon as Dean needed him to be.

Aidan lay in the crumpled bed, emaciated. He barely moved, though he didn't appear to be hurt. Lee pushed Dean forward. "Make him drink." Aidan refused to sit up for it. They could only pour it in when he parted his lips while smacking, making a mess of the sheets. A stupid grin appeared on Aidan's face at the first few proper gulps.

"Slowly," Lee instructed. "He'll be fine. He lost more blood than he's used to, but you haven't gotten him near critical. Trust me, you would taste it. Seems like you two had quite a good time in my bed."

Dean blushed, cradling Aidan gently in his lap. "I can't say no to him, Lee. I—I can do the laundry for you. Whatever you need. But we have to get him ready for his show tonight. God..." he whispered, "is it bad, Lee? Will he be okay?"

"Give him a few hours." Lee smiled as he looked on. "And forget about it. I knew what time it was when he asked you to kiss him. Did I expect differently? Not really, no. Besides, I don't mind his scent in my sheets. Anyway, and this is important," He sat down. "After you feed, he'll be defenseless. It's a matter of trust when that happens. You need to make sure he eats something, preferably something with iron or some vegetables. Get him to start adding to his supply of blood. He'll be able to take more, soon, but for now you need to make sure you don't listen to him all that much. Did he beg you to continue? Because that's what happens most of the time. It's not us knowing our boundaries, it is that more is offered than is ready to give."

"Aidan's always had a healthy appetite for sex," Dean admitted. "His libido is probably a lot stronger than mine. Are we going to be able to have normal sex again? How much is too much? I don't think I have the heart to do this to him every day, Lee," Dean smoothed soft, sweaty curls back from Aidan's forehead. "He also really loves to eat, so feeding him shouldn't be a hardship. As long as I can afford it," a ghost of a smile flitted across his face.

"Ah, money. Give it time. Everything we build up, we get to keep. There's no retirement plan or elderly illnesses draining our wallets. You'll be able to supply for him soon enough, if that's what you want." Lee stood up and wiped a strand of hair out of Aidan's face. He looked peaceful, with his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling with a laziness that made him look asleep. He could hear everything of their conversation, which is how Lee wanted it. "You don't have to feed on him daily. Once every two weeks is enough. Of course you can have normal sex with him. But," he mused, "I don't think it's ever been just _normal_ with him, am I wrong?"

"It's been very, very good," Dean told him. It's all he felt the need to reveal. "We haven't been together _like that_ very long, only a couple of months. But we've been friends a long time. I absolutely want to take care of him, Lee. You mentioned that some people can get addicted to being fed on—that they can become like junkies. How do I keep that from happening?"

"Feed only when you're hungry," smiled Lee.

They both raised at a knock on the door. Lee moved to crack it open and closed it before the man on the other side could see what was inside the room. He returned with a hot plate containing potatoes, tilapia filet and spinach; Lee having foreseen this happening was undeniable now. He put the plate on the nightstand. To Dean he explained, "Fish is always good, potatoes are for the energy and spinach for the iron. If you want to be there for him, you learn nutrition values fast. Get him to sit up. The sooner he eats now, the faster he recovers. And we want him on the stage tonight, don't we?"

Dean smiled at him gratefully. The food smelled incredible. "I'm so indebted to you, Lee," Dean told him. "if someone had told me on that day I first met you that I'd ever feel this way towards you..." he let the sentiment peter off. "Well, you've been a very pleasant surprise. Thank you."

He turned his attentions to Aidan. "Aid?" He asked, laying a hand on Aidan's shoulder and shaking him gently. "There's food for you here. _Real_ food. It smells really, really good. Can I help you sit up so you can eat some?"

Aidan peaked an eye open. "Dean?" His voice was small, and for a moment he forgot where he was. Then he remembered, and what little blood heeded his summoning rose to his cheek. Lee's bed. He quickly scrambled up, but whimpered and forced himself to slow down when vertigo hit him. "Oh man, we really...wow."

"You did," Lee inclined his head.

Aidan turned beet red. "I'm sorry." He smiled weakly. "It was really good though. You too."

"We can't do that every day, Aid," Dean told him. "Or even every other day. It feels really good to me as well, but it's just not healthy for you. And I don't need that much blood, to be honest. I kinda feel like I've drunk a few Red Bulls," he admitted.

"But, here," he showed Aidan the food. "This looks delicious, doesn't it? Lee made it for you."

"Lee m—how long was I out for?" Aidan reached for the fork. His hand shook though. He looked up at Dean for help.

"Not long," Dean soothed him with a hand on his thigh and reached for the fork. He cut easily into the fish and lifted a forkful towards Aidan's mouth. "I'm just hoping he made enough for me, too." His stomach let out a betraying growl.

"There's plenty," Lee assured him. "It's an old family recipe... fish baked in terracotta. Locks in the herbs."

Aidan ate dutifully. The fish practically melted on his tongue and his body craved nutrition. There was something humble about Dean spoon-feeding him, he thought absently with his mouth around a fork. He had come to get answers. Here he was, weak-boned in a stranger's bed, with more answers than he had expected getting. "Tastes good." He tried to get his heartbeat under control by breathing slowly. "So that's what happens when he takes mine. It's...I can get used to it, I think. It doesn't make me sick or weak, does it? How long before I recover?"

"You should go home and take a nap," Lee advised. "Or sleep here for a bit. My flat's so big you're hardly an imposition. If you eat all this food and sleep a few hours, you'll feel quite well when you wake. This I promise you."

This news encouraged Dean. When Aidan made a face and turned up his nose at the spinach, Dean pressed, "Imagine how good this will taste, considering how delicious that fish was. There's a lot of iron in spinach. You need this."

And considering the garlicky smell coming from the potatoes, it was clear that the old wives' tale about garlic staving off vampires was simply not true. Dean cut off a piece of potato and added it to the spinach. "Try this," he encouraged. "I'll stay here with you while you sleep," he told him.

Aidan chuckled. "Yes, mum." He reached to touch his neck. Only a small ridge betrayed that minutes ago—hours?—there had been a wound there. It was healing steadily by now, and it was starting to stop tingling. He longed to scratch it; his body was probably convinced that this was the stage of scabs. To distract his hand from upsetting the wound, he brought it to Dean to touch his face. "Even though it looks like you're about to force-feed me spinach...thank you. I love you."

He made no move to get up, which is how Lee and Dean knew that he intended to stick around for those few hours. Aidan tried not to close his eyes though. He looked at Lee. "Anything else I should know about what you are?"

"We have a power to persuade others," Lee told him. "You've no doubt seen it in action. We cannot do it to just anyone. They have to be susceptible—and in addition to that, susceptible to our individual charms. That's why Richard's compulsion worked so well on Dean. Dean had been enamored with him for most of his life, so Richard was able to capitalize on that. That is not to say that he wasn't in control of his actions while around Richard. But Richard was pulling some strings."

Dean nodded, wiping at Aidan's chin with a napkin. "It explains why I felt so dazed early on. Will he still be able to compel me like that?"

"Only if you want him to," was Lee's vague answer. "He's your sire now. He _made_ you. He'll be able to request things of you now to which you'll be unable to refuse. But," he said, at the look of alarm on Dean's face, "he'd never ask you to go against your own principles."

Aidan looked between them, from Lee to Dean and back again. He had figured it wouldn't be so easy. "Have you compelled anyone? How does it work?"

"I just got you to eat that spinach, didn't I?" Dean smiled. "I also convinced you last night that you'd be able to sleep well, despite all your protesting. It's little things, Aidan. I'd never make you do anything you really didn't want to do."

"That's just it, isn't it?" Lee said softly. "We _can_ ask for big things, if the chemistry is right. I've convinced many a millionaire to give me some money. But I'd never ask that of someone who couldn't afford it. A vampire with no scruples could very well take over the world, if he wanted to."

"Probably already has," Aidan off-handedly supplied, not loud enough to be an official comment, but enough for them to hear. "How does it work—turning someone? Could it happen accidentally, like Dean accidentally making me one when he has a wound or does something else?"

The spinach actually wasn't so bad. It was mixed with a cream and seasoned just nicely—not like his usual shower of salt to make up for the lack of taste. Aidan found himself finishing it and hoping there was more.

"Dean wasn't really awake for what happened to him, but it works like this," Lee leaned in, putting his elbows on his thighs. "We feed on someone, and when we do, our saliva enters their bloodstream. Just like yours has Dean's in now. If you were to ingest some of his blood within 24 hours, you'd begin to turn. The first part of turning is death. You will die. Your body shuts down pretty rapidly and it's like you fall asleep. Then, not long after, you wake up again. Any wounds or health conditions you have would begin to clear up, and with astounding quickness," Lee smiled gently at Dean. "It can be painful, that re-knitting of flesh and bone, but as you can see, it's well worth the pain."

Dean nodded in agreement. "I don't remember most of it. I was in bad shape. I don't remember Richard biting me, but I do remember the euphoria that followed. Then the pain. I don't remember dying either."

"So an accident is possible?" That didn't sound good—not until Aidan figured out what he wanted. "Does it happen that people die and don't come back?" Finishing the last of his plate, he handed back the tray with a grateful nod. His strength was slowly returning to him.

"That has never happened, to my knowledge," Lee told him. "Once you've ingested vampire blood and you've been fed upon, you begin the transformation. Richard might know otherwise. He's been around far longer than I have. He's never quite told me the truth about his age."

"Can we be killed?" Dean wanted to know. "Are there people like Buffy the Vampire Slayer out there with stakes?"

Lee laughed. "Vampire hunters! Well, no, there are the few people who hate us enough to have us killed, but no vampire hunters. Society would think they're crazy, wouldn't you think so? Besides, we're difficult to spot unless you stick around for a few decades. Vampire hunters disappeared from this world when the belief in vampires did."

Aidan frowned. "Well, but what does kill you?"

"Lethal wounds," Lee shrugged. "Nobody survives decapitation, not even us. Strangling. Lethal injection. Those of us with a death sentence, they do die. The more reason not to do anything stupid unless you're absolutely sure."

Dean shivered and pulled the sleeves of his sweater down over his wrists. Aidan looked exhausted. "Enough questions," he put a lid on the discussions. "Aidan should rest up for tonight. I'll never forgive myself if I get you fired," he told his friend, kissing his forehead softly. "Can he sleep here—or is there another room you'd prefer he go to?"

"Here is fine," said Lee, and he held back from Dean that Aidan's scent on his sheets was going to be fodder for some personal fun. He guided Dean out of the bedroom and back into the living area, giving Aidan few options other than just going to sleep.

"He got you to feed on him," he mused with a knowing look, adding affectionately, "He's going to be a handful."

"He's _always_ been a handful," Dean admitted with a rueful smile. "Little will change on that front, I imagine." He slipped onto the sofa, crossing one ankle over the other. "I can't let him get like that again, Lee. I can't."

"This isn't bad," Lee gestured in the direction of the bedroom. "You stopped early. You could have knocked him out and he still would have been safe, given the right aftercare." He smiled, his lips red against the glass of wine. "Looks like he got over his insecurities quickly. Don't look like that, Dean, we all have insecurities, and he has more reason than others. After all, you're technically Richard's."

"What does that mean?" Dean frowned, one hand smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle in his pants. "Do we automatically become Richard's _property_ because he was responsible for turning us?"

"As much as your parents considered you theirs." Lee shrugged and leaned back. "Then again, you kissed him before you were turned, and Aidan was already there. That makes his hold over you different from a parent. And if he and I are related, then we're terribly incestuous about it. What I mean to say is, you held an attraction to him. Of course that makes him insecure. But you're as much his as you're Richard's. Maybe more."

As Lee spoke, Dean got up and walked to the sliding glass door that opened up onto Lee's balcony. Beyond the balcony, filled with plants and comfortable outdoor chairs, was Hyde Park. The sky was grey and a cold drizzle was falling. Dean lay his head against the chilly glass and thought about the first time he had seen Richard. 

He was eleven years old and went with a friend and his parents to see "The Code" at a small theater in Auckland. He was young, but he already knew what he wanted. A routine trip to see a movie that day cemented in him that he was, indeed, gay. More importantly, he decided then and there that he wanted to be an actor—despite the fact that he was too short and far too ordinary looking—so that one day he might get to meet Richard Armitage.

This made him chuckle. If someone had told that eleven-year-old boy that someday Richard Armitage, his crush of well over twenty years, would someday turn him into a vampire... 

"Do you think," he asked Lee, "if I hadn't been hurt, if I hadn't been about to _die_ , that he still would have turned me, eventually? Do you think it was fate?"

Lee joined him, a coat flung around his shoulders. "Perhaps. He has had his eyes on you since he met you, but he has a more than healthy moral code. Usually in favor of the people he lets his eyes fall on. There's no saying what would have happened. If he wouldn't be here, I might have felt compelled to turn your boyfriend, some years into the future. Who knows? "

Dean turned to face him. "You like Aidan." It wasn't a question, so much as an observation. 

"Did he not mention it?" Lee wasn't fazed. "I don't mind him asleep in my bed because his scent will linger. I'm not ashamed to admit it."

"It was obvious," Dean told him, "that night we came to Richard's to work on the questionable scenes. I don't know what words you two exchanged, but at the time it really upset him. It didn't seem to bother him so much today."

Dean knew he couldn't compete with Lee. The man was tall, gorgeous, refined ... and rich. He had also been a vampire for a long, long time and could very easily tear him apart. There was no stopping Lee if he wanted to take Aidan from him, and Dean knew it.

"Can I have some of that food?" he asked instead.


	16. Merely Misunderstood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan is well enough to go onstage. That night, on the way back to their apartment, he and Dean run into someone unexpected.

Aidan slept like the dead for nearly five hours. At six o'clock, Dean went into Lee's bedroom to rouse him from slumber. He lay next to for some time, watching Aidan sleep, noting that the color had returned to his cheeks. "It's time to get up, Aid," he whispered softly in his ear. "You need to be on stage in ninety minutes."

Aidan slurred something incomprehensible, until those words sunk in. His eyes opened wide. "Ninety minutes! I should have been there two hours ago. Did they call? Did you answer?" He got up to dress himself immediately.

"It's all right," Dean assured him. "Plenty of time to spare. I called the stage manager and told him you were a little under the weather. He insisted you get as much rest as possible to prepare for tonight. Apparently your understudy isn't quite ready to step in for you yet."

Aidan snorted. "Of course not, he's only been my understudy for three days. What happened to my shirt? I went to sleep with my shirt on."

"I..." Dean looked around the room and found the garment draped across a chair. He hadn't removed it. It must have been Lee. "I guess it was constricting or something." He handed it to Aidan. "Are you feeling better?"

 _Do you remember what happened?_ was what he really meant.

The attention got him a kiss in the twilight, followed swiftly by a soft smile. "I'll be fine. You didn't hurt me." When Aidan was ready to go, he stretched his limbs and nodded. It was then that he remembered this being Lee's place. Involuntarily his attention was drawn back to the bed. Well, wouldn't Lee just love having had him over? "I was out for a while, wasn't I?" he asked Dean upon entering the lobby. "You waited for me."

"Uh huh," Dean wrapped his arms around him, "and now Lee's waiting for us. He's going to drive us to the theater. C'mon," he smiled, pulling Aidan in the direction of the door. "I'm staying with you tonight to keep an eye on you. Hell, I'd come on the stage with you if I could."

"Everyone would love a guest appearance from you. After _Friendly Fire,_ you're a star. Besides," Aidan looked mischievous, "nobody knows you're with me. It'll be fun." He let Dean lead him to the parking lot, where they met up with Lee. Aidan gave him a curt, grateful nod for what he had done for him.

"Nice to see you back on your feet," Lee studied Aidan from head to toe. "You look a little tired, but none the worse for wear. Today was a challenging one for you. It gets far easier from here on out." He opened the front door of his car for Aidan.

Aidan got into the passenger seat, pausing briefly to consider offering Dean the spot, but his constitution wasn't up for a backseat drive. "I just hope it doesn't diminish other parts," he mumbled. He didn't talk much during the ride to the theater and, upon getting there, was equally awkward about parting from them in favor of his dressing room. "You'll be in the audience then?" he checked.

"I'm staying," Dean offered immediately. "But I could wait in your dressing room or backstage if you prefer."

"I, sadly, must meet up with Richard," Lee placed one hand on his heart. He offered Aidan the other hand. "We have much to discuss."

Aidan agreed. He hoped that when they got together for that talk, it would be unrelated to Dean or himself. "Thank you, for your answers. If I've got anything else I want to know, I'll send you a message if that's okay."

He led Dean back into the dressing room that reminded him almost at once of what had happened there last night. When the door closed, he released the breath he had been holding. "This is a lot, all of it."

"I know," Dean said quietly. "I'm still processing it myself, so I certainly have no unreasonable expectations of you, Aidan. I just want us to come out the other side of this insanity intact."

Aidan leaned his head back. "Up to a certain point." The dressing room still smelled faintly of magnesium and sex; Aidan's little pre-stage kingdom that was growing on him more than he had thought it would. He was thankful the cleaners hadn't yet come and wiped that scent away. "I think I can be okay with you feeding on me. I don't like to think of you making others feel the way I did. Not that that's the only or most important reason. You know me."

"Feeding on you was terrifying for me," Dean told him, sitting down on a folding chair. "I was afraid I'd lose control and hurt you, Aid. I know what to do now." He pushed a tube of stage make-up in Aidan's direction. "It'll never be that scary again. Promise."

"But it wasn't scary," Aidan relented. It had been the hottest thing imaginable—and that in Lee's bed. "It wouldn't be good if I let you feed too much though, would it?" He started mentally preparing for the role he would take on for the next ninety minutes, late enough as he was, but his thoughts weren't in it.

"You'd die," Dean whispered. "And it'd probably feel so good that you wouldn't care. That... that terrifies me. Aidan," he reached for his hand and squeezed it earnestly, "swear to me that you won't let Lee do that do you—let you get to that point. I can't lose you."

Aidan looked at him like he didn't understand. He idly balanced a brush on his knee. "Why would I let Lee do that anyway? I don't know if you've noticed, but what you did was a massive turn-on. The idea of Lee doing that to me... fuck, what are you thinking about, O'Gorman?"

"I...I just..." Did Aidan not remember what had happened with Lee? Was he simply choosing to forget? Lee hadn't forgotten—that much was certain. "I'm just being overly-paranoid, I guess," he smiled. "After all, you're a star now. Everyone's going to want a piece of you." He leaned over to kiss Aidan softly on the temple. "I hope you'll have the chance to introduce me around to your cast mates," he told him, glancing down at his watch. "You'd best get ready."

Aidan visibly recoiled from the memory that leaked into his mind immediately after Dean's discomfort became apparent to him. "Right... Lee. Well," he searched for the diplomatic way to say that it had been unexpectedly hot, too, without upsetting anyone, "as long as you're there as well."

The costume was fixed quickly, and Aidan combed his hair before he made it to out of the dressing room and into the general make-up department—which wasn't as big as it sounded. He introduced the man waiting for him to his boyfriend and sat down. All the while his eyes kept seeking out Dean's in the mirror. Smiles and secretive messages were shared whenever his artist didn't look, until Aidan looked immaculate. 

"Is it all right if I watch from backstage?" Dean asked of those around him. "I'll stay out of the way."

"You must really miss your production." Orlando nodded in sympathy as soon as he sat down next to Aidan, his eyes running over Dean. Recognizing. "You're quite good in it, I'd like to say. You and that Armitage fellow have remarkable chemistry. Aidan must trust you implicitly not to molest your costar."

Dean arched his eyebrows. "We're still working on that," he said, squeezing Aidan's hand gently. "Good luck out there tonight. I love you," he whispered in Aidan’s ear.

Aidan reined him in for a kiss with his arms draped over Dean's shoulders, not in the least awkward for doing this in front of colleagues. If anything, he wanted to cement that Richard had no say in their relationship—if not for Orlando, then for himself. "Love you," he grinned while capturing Dean's bottom lip between his own. "Stay. I want to see you between scenes."

For those who knew that a considerable amount of his blood had been taken from Aidan's system that day, it was obvious that he stood slightly faintly on his legs, but that number of people was limited to one, and everyone else didn't so much as notice that he was off. Aidan played his role to the best of his ability that night. Beginning to grow into it, his performance was better than it had been the first few days.

Aidan returned backstage between the first and the second act brimming with energy, but he kept his time with Dean short. Only after the whole of the play had been completed and Aidan's character had gone from great heights to a great darkness leading into his eventual demise, did he offer his boyfriend the time he had wanted to give him from the start. "Let's go home, okay?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, so bursting with pride for Aidan that no other words would come. He could easily envision the two of them, on stage together, in time. There surely had to be a way to make that happen. "You were incredible," he told Aidan, handing him a jar of cold cream. "I'd like to get you some dinner."

"Sure. But let me get a shower first."

Aidan slunk back into his dressing room. He returned as soon as he could, which was ten minutes later with his hair still tousled and one leg of his jeans crumpled up. His energy reserves were close to depleted, yet he radiated. He didn't know why that was, himself. Maybe it was that Richard didn't seem like such a big threat to them anymore. "Take me to wherever you had in mind," he grinned.

"Steak, I think," Dean reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers. "Steak and broccoli...no expenses spared for you."

There was no wait at the JW Steakhouse. The host raised his eyebrows as if he recognized one, or both, of them, and led the pair to a quiet corner table. They ate gigantic steaks, loaded baked potatoes and broccoli, with a boxed piece of cheesecake each, to go. 

The walk to the Tube was a chilly one and they both did their fair share of shivering. "I hope someday I can afford to put us up in a nice apartment like Lee's," Dean told him, "or a townhome like Richard's. And wouldn't it be amazing to have a car?"

Leaning against him, Aidan sleepily agreed. Worst about eating so much after having needed the sustenance was that his metabolism demanded all of his energy to process it, and on top of that he had also eaten far too much. Walking with a heavy stomach disagreed with his earlier appetite now. "I'd be happy enough to be able to pay the rent and share the place with you. But maybe we could consider upgrading. Oh god," he groaned, "carry me. I'm sure you're blessed with extraordinary strength now."

Dean chuckled. "I might be," he mused. "I haven't tried."

He swooped around in front of Aidan and dove towards his middle, tossing Aidan over his shoulder with relative ease. "Well," he grunted, patting Aidan's ass, "it's a little easier than I thought it would be....but I can't see carrying you like this for more than a block," he groaned. "You're remarkably solid."

"If that's an insult, O'Gorman..." But Aidan laughed, feeling his bloated stomach press further in against Dean's chest.

Just then, he caught sight of a man standing oddly still in front of them on a shadowy street corner. Aidan let his weight drop off Dean to stand on his own feet. There was something familiar about the man. When he understood what it was, he quickly pulled Dean off the set course and in the opposite direction they were headed. They could take a later train.

"What?" Dean was still laughing at his own ridiculous efforts and nearly dropped the bag holding their dessert. "Aidan? Where are we going?"

"Rob," Aidan hissed between his teeth. He linked an arm into Dean's and kissed him when he made to turn his head to look. "Call Richard."

"What?!" Dean instantly felt the blood draining from his face. Panic set in. "Can't be. Are you sure?" He fumbled for his phone, handing it over to Aidan when he found himself unable to walk and dial simultaneously.

Dean's phone would have slipped from Aidan's trembling hands, had he not pulled himself together and forced himself to keep his head cool. He remembered the horror that Rob had made of Dean's face, and he was terrified that he'd do it again. Dean was new to this; he could barely be trusted to defend them both, regardless of how much Aidan wanted him to. He quickly scrolled through his contacts and dialed Richard.

"Richard ...hi." Aidan was out of breath. He looked over his shoulder, pressing the phone against his ear. The street was empty. It didn't make him feel any safer. "This is Aidan. I’m on the street with Dean. I think we just saw Rob."

 _Bloody hell!_ Richard swore to himself. _Goddamn it, Will!_ The man had seemed a little bit off when he'd taken Rob to him, but he had no idea that Will would possibly let Rob go. Aidan had to be mistaken. Nonetheless he sounded terrified, which meant Dean had to be doubly so.

"Duck inside the nearest restaurant or store you come to," Richard told him, trying to sound calm. "I'll come pick the two of you up. Just stay on the phone with me until you're inside."

"Restaurant," Aidan acknowledged, and steered Dean to the closest bar available. His mind was a blur. "Where's Lee? Anyway...fuck! What do we do now? I thought—look, I don't care what you did to him, I thought he was out of our lives! I can't see him anymore. What if he's gone to our place? How—what the _fuck_ , Richard, what's he doing here?!"

Next to him, Dean heavily sat down on a chair just inside the door. His face was ashen. "Richard said Rob would never come back. You must have seen someone else," he whispered, reaching for Aidan. His hand was icy.

"I'm hoping the person you saw just happened to look like Dean's understudy," Richard said, trying to calm Aidan from the other end of the line. "Give me the name of the place and I'll come over immediately. In the mean time, get a table. Get close to the center of the room. If it is Rob, and he comes inside, don't engage him. I'm not sure Dean is equipped to face him yet, Aidan."

"Yeah, no shit! I don't know!" Aidan was properly freaking out by now, and Richard was set to bear the brunt of it. "Some Moroccan place. I don't know, I didn't read the sign when I got in. Just off Marble Arch. Jesus, Richard, if it's him..."

Maybe it wasn't, maybe he was simply freaking out, but Aidan obsessively kept glancing out the front windows as he allowed a piqued lady, who had just born witness to his string of highly restaurant-inappropriate words, to escort them to a table. The smell of garlic and chili peppers made him nauseous. He kept his hands locked with Dean's after sitting down.

"We're here." He bit his lip as he shared a look with Dean. "How long until you can get here?"

Dean just shook his head when the waitress asked if he needed anything. _Rob._ Aidan claimed to have seen him. But they had only met that one time, at the diner during the reviews. Maybe he'd just seen someone else. But Dean could only think of the heart-stopping fear he'd felt that night in the alley...the stabbing pain, the helpless horror of being mutilated beyond recognition, the desiccated mess he had cleaned off his face that had once been his eye.

His hand jerked spasmodically and the silverware clattered. "I won't let him hurt you, Aidan," he assured his boyfriend. "I promise."

"I'm on my way," Richard told Dean, having overheard. "Traffic's light tonight. I won't be long."

"Okay." Aidan put the phone on the table, the call still on. He looked at Dean and instantly felt sorry for not having done this with more control. If he had told Dean he was suddenly hungry again, or maybe that he'd forgotten his gloves, then Dean wouldn't be looking like he was looking now—frightened. After what he had gone through, any man would lose his cool, and Aidan had long figured out that being a vampire didn't instantly come with inhuman strength. If only it had. They wouldn't be sitting here like frightened rabbits now.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he tried to calm his boyfriend down. "I'm sorry. I couldn't take the risk." The thing was, Aidan was certain that his eyes hadn't deceived him. Rob had been waiting for them there.

The smells from all the tables around him, coupled with the huge dinner he'd eaten and the fear squeezing his stomach like a large fist finally got the best of Dean. In a panic, his eyes sought out the restroom. "I've got to..." he managed to Aidan, before dashing away, nearly tripping up a waiter carrying a tray of food.

Dean barely made it to the restroom in time to be sick, and with it came tears. The lighting was harsh as he washed and dried his face, rinsing his mouth and spitting in the sink. _C'mon, man up,_ he told himself. _You were stronger than Rob three days ago and you're stronger than he is now!_

It didn't stop his hands from trembling as he threw away his paper towel.

Aidan didn't want to leave him alone. He made sure he followed Dean as soon as he had ordered them a glass of wine from a waitress and paid up front in order to not appear like guests who were just there to occupy a table without ordering anything, but he wished he didn't have to hear Dean's weakness. When footsteps approached the door again, he quickly made it back to his table.

Rob hadn't reappeared by the time Richard arrived to pick them up. A weight fell off his shoulders. He pulled Dean close. The glass of wine stood pristine and abandoned on the table as they left.

In the backseat, Dean curled into Aidan's warmth. "I didn't even see him," he said softly, "and I'm still scared of him. Richard, tell me exactly what you did with Rob... please?"

Richard kept his eyes on the road. They didn't go to his Kensington house—that was too easy to figure out—and Rob knew about the other place, although he might not know where that was. Lee was too close, too obvious for Rob to figure out. Only anonymity could keep them away, if Rob truly had returned. He needed to make a phone call as soon as he pulled up somewhere.

"Not here," he said.

That left them with a hotel on the outskirts of town. Richard nodded to the receptionist, and the man behind the desk returned the nod familiarly. He knew.

As soon as the door behind the large suite was locked, Richard sat down. He hung his head.

"Rob is not dead. I figured Dean would end up feeling guilty." He smiled sadly at the man. "I pulled in a favor with a friend in a less reputable business, who trades in people. I needed someone to own him, or he would come back. They were supposed to take his passport and ship him abroad, get some leverage on him, make sure he was always in their debt and afraid enough to not do something about it. He should have been far from London by now. You're certain you saw him?"

Aidan swayed back and forth. "Positive. That look in his eyes, there's no doubt. He saw us. We were just lucky there were people around."

"What does this mean?" Dean curled up in the armchair in the corner. "He'll come for me, for Aidan," he whispered. "I should have ripped out his throat when I had the chance!"

"You never had the chance," Richard sighed. "I wouldn't have let you. Now...well, now we deal with him. Do you want to give Rob a chance to explain, Dean?"

Aidan sat forward. "No."

"Rob?" Dean frowned. "What could he possibly say to make this better, Richard?"

"Anything, for a second chance. I should talk to Lee. He'd handle this immediately. Do you want me to call Lee?"

Dean drew in a deep breath. "Yes. Please," he felt like a little boy afraid to leave the house on the first day of school. "I can't live in fear, Richard. And I won't have this hanging over Aidan and the other people I love."

"Wait," Aidan interrupted them with a look of horror, "you're talking about killing him, aren't you?"

"If it means keeping him from killing one of us, you're damn right we are," Dean took off his coat. "I regret taking pity on him. It was stupid."

"Well, can't you just, I don't know, intimidate him? You're immortal, for crying out loud." Aidan didn't get it. "What he did is inexcusable and he deserves every punch he gets, but killing him? Can't you do what he did to you and end it there?"

Dean sat back down again weakly. "I'm still new to this, Aidan. I haven't come into myself. I'm not Lee, I'm not Richard," he said sadly. "I'm just scared, and full of questions. Rob made it very clear he's not afraid of me. You would have me carve him up? Cut out his tongue? Leave him for dead in an alley?" The notion made him sick all over again.

"Without actually killing him? Yes! Or have Lee do it, since he seems to be the go-to guy for that sort of thing. If you kill him, it would haunt us for the rest of our lives."

"I believed that," Dean nodded thoughtfully, "until you claimed to see him on the street today. It would haunt me more knowing he was just out there, waiting to hurt us. How could I let you walk to the theater knowing he could be waiting to drag _you_ into an alley next?"

Clearly Aidan hadn't considered that. He looked to the side, his eyes troubled more. "I never did anything to upset him, did I? I'm not in the play and that's—does he know you're vampire?"

"He does." Richard sat back to reach for his phone. It rolled between his fingers like a playing card. "Nobody would believe him if he told anyone, and anyone who speaks up becomes a target to the others."

"He'd come for you because I love you," Dean stated simply. "He wouldn't need another reason. He could go after Adam, my family..." He felt as if his heart were going to leap from his chest. "Send Lee for him, Richard. Please."

Frightened of that prospect—of considering Dean to be the same kind of man as Lee, who seemed to have no qualms with putting his hands around a man's neck and squeezing until not a breath of life remained—Aidan got up and walked away from the conversation. He leaned his forehead against the glass that overlooked the street, his breath fogging up the glass. Out there, the world seemed so normal.

"...Fine. But don't tell me where or when. Have it happen before we leave this flat, and leave me out of it for as long as you can. I don't want to know."

Dean rose and came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Aidan's waist and laying his head against Aidan's back and neck. He was so warm, so comforting. "I'm so sorry, Aidan. So sorry about all of this. All I ever wanted was for us to have a happy, normal life—some plum roles—and enough money to get by."

Aidan leaned back. "Don't apologize for that. It was his doing. I understand, but I don't—I can't think of sentencing someone to death, even though he deserves it."

He ignored Richard's presence. It was just the two of them right now. Richard took that as his call to retreat to the bathroom, close the door, and get Lee on the line.

Aidan craned to kiss Dean on the cheek. "Everything is so messed up. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like without _Friendly Fire._ Things were easy before you got the role. No people chasing us, no vampires..."

"I didn't know," Dean told him quietly. "I didn't have any idea what I was inviting into our lives. I should have figured it out when I actually got the role. It was too good to be true. I didn't deserve it. I wish I'd just been turned down. Then we both would have been all right. I wish we could just go back in time."

The window was cold when Aidan turned around it and wrapped his arms around Dean. He leaned his chin on his shoulder, his eyes closed. "It's not your fault, love. It's bizarre and it feels like it keeps getting worse, but if Richard and Lee hadn't been there, you wouldn't be alive right now. We just need to deal with the cards we are dealt. Apparently, that means staying here until they find him. We'll find a way to manage."

Dean shook his head adamantly, "You can't miss your show, Aidan. I know more than anyone how eager understudies are to swoop in and take the lead."

"Both of you," Richard had put away his phone, and walked towards them after checking them time, "I want you to get into that bed," he gestured towards the king sized bed that dominated the room, "and get some rest. It's past midnight."

Dean looked at him as if he was mad, then a yawn split his face.

"Are you staying?" Aidan asked Richard, ready to deposit Dean into the bed and snuggle up against his warmth. He could need the feeling of safety that came from sharing a bed. It was a feeling that he hadn't had for a few long nights, and that he had missed greatly. "Our clothes are in the apartment."

"I'm not going anywhere, Aidan," Richard assured them both. "I'm not leaving you two alone until Rob is located. Lee has a gift for that sort of thing. He's always been a bit of a rogue," he smiled fondly, slipping into the chair closest to the door. "It's my hope that this incident will be just a blip on the radar. Do you need to use the shower?"

Aidan heard Dean muttering something under his breath about a _fucking blip,_ as he crawled under the covers in the center of the bed, wearing only his boxer shorts and t-shirt. 

"It's amazing how easily one can fall asleep after an unexpected rush of adrenaline," Richard commented, watching Aidan tuck the covers up over him.

There was no question about who occupied the only remaining spot on the bed, but Aidan said it anyway. "There's no room here. You'll sleep on the couch, won't you?" He was ready to defend Dean to his last breath, looking down at his sleeping form. There were things Richard knew nothing about. With all his years, Aidan refused to think him capable of devotion like his own.

"I won't be sleeping," Richard met Aidan's level gaze with his own, "not with the two of you vulnerable. I brought you here for your protection. That being said," he eyed the empty spot on Dean's other side, "it _is_ a king sized bed."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Dean sighed. "Would you two just whip your dicks out and measure them already so I can get some sleep?"

Richard chuckled softly. "There's no need for that, Dean."

Aidan eyed Richard with mistrust. What, he didn't think Aidan couldn’t compare? With a huff he pretended that Richard wasn't in the room and undressed. He got into bed, wrapped an arm over Dean's shoulder and raised his brow at the other man, challenging him to go there. When no response came, he closed his eyes. "Goodnight, Richard." Much quieter, and separated by several seconds, he added, "Thank you."

Dean opened his eyes and smiled apologetically at Richard. "You're a good man, Richard," he told him. "I will never forget all you've done for me.

He snuggled back against Aidan beneath the blankets and allowed his eyes to fall closed.

\- - - - -

Lee moved through the dark like it was but a veil that held no secrets for him. The streets were empty, save for only a few that were better off not there, and he paid nobody any attention. His senses were trained on a familiar scent, now fading in the soot of the city. They had drawn him into the park and past it, but although it seemed to get stronger sometimes, he was hopelessly lost.

It was Rob all right, but just where was he?

Rob watched Lee's consternation with amusement from a shadowed balcony, four stories up. He felt good. He felt strong, just as Will had promised.

\- - - - - 

_72 Hours Earlier…._

When Richard had brought him to Will three days earlier, despite Rob's grogginess, Rob noticed the exchange of a stack of money. Richard was literally paying to get rid of him.

During the car ride over, Richard had assured him that he was going to meet a person who was going to take him to another country. He would become this man's property and would be fed upon regularly. Rob liked that idea. He remembered how good it felt. 

He knew he was lucky simply to be alive. He'd done a stupid, irrational thing to Dean. He was a criminal, nearly a murderer, and he deserved to die for what he'd done. The rage that had come over him when he confronted Dean in that alley—it had struck without warning. And when he was done, Dean had been a mess. And yet, he had found it in him to forgive him. 

That only infuriated Rob more.

"He's good looking," Will had told Richard.

"That he is," Richard agreed, "but he's trouble, Will. He nearly killed a man—the man for whom he was the understudy in a play—because he wanted the part. Carved up his face, put out an eye, cut out his tongue. It was violent. He's got a lot of anger. Can you work with that?"

"Yeah," Will's eyes swept over Rob's solid frame, over his face, which, even at being sold, held hints of defiance. "This I can definitely work with. Thank you, Richard."

Armitage gave the two of them a long look, as if trying to determine if he was doing the right thing. Finally, he nodded. "Very well then. Take him out of the country. We never want to see him again. Whatever else you choose to do, I don't need to know about it."

And, just like that, he was gone.

After the sound of Richard's car faded, Will's demeanor changed. He smiled and his eyes twinkled. "You must have really wanted that part, eh?" he chuckled. "Actors. Such a temperamental bunch. Tell me," he cocked his head to the side, "would you like the chance to finish the job?"

The corners of Rob's mouth curled upward.

\- - - - -

Will did not take Rob out of the country. He ushered him into his own vehicle and drove him across town to an ordinary neighborhood, where he parked the sedan on the driveway of an end-unit townhouse.

"I live here with my partner, Jed," Will explained. "We're _scientists,_ of a sort. We work with vampires. I guess by now you've figured out that's what Richard is?"

Rob nodded. "And you?"

"No, I'm not," Will told him, "but Jed is. He's my protector and he supports my research."

"Research?" Rob asked, as he climbed out of the passenger seat at Will's request, swaying a bit unsteadily.

"We help vampires realize their full potential," Will told him. "You, my friend, would be a lovely vampire."

Rob had no response to this, but he considered what it would be like to be as charismatic as Richard, as predatory as Lee...and as hungry as Dean had been when he had climbed into his lap.

He readily followed Will inside.

\- - - - -

Rob had expected to be walking into some sort of mad scientist's lab, but the two men lived in a normal, comfortably appointed home—perhaps a bit cleaner than most, but he supposed that was to be expected.

"It's just the two of us," Will told Rob, pulling out a chair at the dining room table, indicating that Rob should sit. Rob did so unsteadily.. "And you'll make three, of course. Do you like soup? I'll make you some soup."

Will walked to the kitchen and began opening cabinets and turning on appliances. That was the point when they normally ran away, or tried to. If they wanted to leave, Will generally let them. He had Armitage's money now. What did he care?

But when he left the kitchen with a hot bowl of soup and a chunk of bread, Rob was still sitting at the table, picking idly at a blue, fringed placemat. 

"It's split pea," Will apologized, setting it down. "Jed's out at the market. He left when we found out we were having a guest. We'll feed you something more solid later, after you've rested, all right?"

Rob nodded, bewildered at the kind treatment, and picked up the spoon. "Thank you, Master," he said, testing the title.

"It's just _Will,_ " Will smiled. "Will and Jed. You're adorable. I'm glad you decided to stay."

"I have nowhere else to go," Rob admitted, digging into the soup. He had never quite liked pea soup, but his stomach insisted otherwise. He ate ravenously.

"We have a spare bedroom upstairs," Will told him. "It's furnished. Consider this your home, for as long as you need it. I'm sure you'll need that bed sooner rather than later. I recognize the look of someone recently fed upon all too well."

After Rob finished his meal, Will showed him upstairs. "You've got your own bathroom. It's small, but should have nearly everything you need. We'll have to see about getting you some new clothing as soon as possible. I'm sure we have something that fits for when you wake up." Rob's shirt and jeans were spattered with blood.

"Thank you, Will," he turned to his new benefactor. "I won't abuse your hospitality."

"I know you won't," Will smiled. "I'm a good judge of people. You're merely misunderstood, aren't you, Rob?"

Rob swallowed audibly and tears sprang to his eyes. He nodded. "Yeah," he whispered. "I—I think I am."

"Get some sleep," Will said gently.

"Okay," Rob agreed, entering the room. The double bed beckoned him like a siren, but his first stop was the shower—extra hot. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	17. Forever Seems Like A Mighty Long Commitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee fails to locate Rob. Richard gives Dean a crash course in Vampire 101. He also tells Dean the story of how he was made--revealing a shocking secret.

Jed, it turned out, was a long, lanky, laid-back fellow—certainly not someone that Rob would expect to be a vampire, based on his limited experience. He was also very kind and he helped build up Rob's strength with food and rest for the next 48 hours. He smiled easily and made fantastic bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches.

When Rob wasn't asleep, he was sitting in the living room with Jed and Will as they watched movies, read books or worked at respective laptops. 

Rob missed the theater. The newspaper said there had been a huge sprinkler leak and the entire production had to be halted for a few weeks. Wasn't that convenient?

"You're angry," Jed said matter-of-factly from across the room one night. Jed wasn't even looking at him. "I can smell it, you know. My sense of smell is incredible. Yours will be too, my young friend. It'll be even better." He patted the seat next to him and encouraged Rob to move to sit on the couch.

When Rob complied, Jed handed over his laptop, open to the National Theatre's website for _Friendly Fire_. "Which one is he, then?" Jed asked. "This man that you carved up like a turkey?"

Rob barked out a laugh, which he instantly regretted. "This one," he clicked on the thumbnail of Dean O'Gorman's photo, and it opened. "This is Dean."

"He's handsome enough," Jed remarked, "but he's not as handsome as you are."

"He's very talented," Rob told him. "Richard Armitage is in love with him."

"And you? Are _you_ in love with Richard Armitage?" Jed wondered.

"No," Rob answered honestly, "but I did want him to at least look at me. He didn't. It was obvious. It hurt. And they were so good together. The reviews were incredible. All I could think about was how much I wanted Dean's part. I probably would have been awful," he said quietly.

"You'll never know now, Rob," Jed said. "Anger really can ruin things, can't it? I killed my brother, you know," he admitted. "He slept with my wife. That was in 1935. I don't blame him anymore. Not now. But then, the anger was so white hot. It consumed me. I think you understand what I'm talking about, don't you?"

Rob nodded. "I do. It happened to me in the alley. And just before." He jumped when a knot in a log in the fireplace popped loudly.

"I can help you temper that anger," Jed told him, putting his hand on Rob's arm. "I can also help you channel it, intensify it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Not really," Rob said quietly, suddenly a little scared. "I've always been angry. I don't really know why. I think I'm too old now to change that, Jed."

"Never say things like that, Rob." Jed met his eyes. "You now, if you decide that you want to be turned, you'll have a long, long life...and plenty of time in which to learn—and change. I'm a lot less angry now than I was before."

"I probably wouldn't have liked the old Jed," Will commented upon entering the room with a tray carrying three coffee mugs with a wisp of something steaming hot. "Who wants hot cocoa?"

"Sweet beverages for a serious conversation," Jed smiled, taking a mug for both Rob and himself. Handing the mug to the blond, he wondered, "So what do you think, Rob, about being turned?"

"The idea of living forever scares me," Rob confessed. "Days seem too long to me now. Weeks and months even more so. I'd go mad, wouldn't I?"

"Maybe," Jed cocked his head, "then again, maybe not. You need a reason to want to live that long. A passion, a hobby, a profession. Right now you have nothing but your anger and your revenge. It's just not healthy."

"I know," Rob admitted. "I hate it, Jed."

"And yet," Will sank into the armchair next to them, "you'd still like to go back and finish him off, wouldn't you?"

Rob took a small sip of the cocoa, found it too hot, and sat it aside on a coaster. He considered the question for a moment.

"I think so, yes."

\- - - - -

Lee leaned back against the brick wall. Sunlight was creeping up on him. It wasn't something he feared like the feral creatures in the movies. Lugosi, with his hooked nose, had looked fearsome in black-and-white back then, and Lee knew that many of those who were the real deal would actually be uncomfortable in the presence of the silver-screen legend.

He could not quit his hunt now, yet the trail had gone cold. A curse escaped him. This never happened to him, not with people whose presence had left such an angry imprint on the world, for rage had a distinct scent. He reached for his phone, quickly and furiously typed a message to Richard that he hadn't been successful, then left the alley.

On the other side of the city, Richard frowned down at the phone in his hand. Lee had come up empty. This did not bode well.

His gaze turned toward the pair of men on the bed. Aidan had fallen asleep after an uneasy hour of tossing and turning. An arm was protectively wrapped around Dean's waist. Funny, Richard thought, that Aidan thought he could truly protect Dean now.

Aidan had not been mistaken. It _had_ been Rob he had seen on the street. Lee had picked up the scent and confirmed it. Richard cursed Will silently. But perhaps Rob had overpowered the man. He was, after all, only a man. As Dean had been a man when Rob had hurt him.

Richard felt certain that if Rob and Dean were to encounter one another again, it would be Dean who walked away unscathed and Rob who'd be lying bleeding afterwards.

What was he to do now? Place them both under house arrest? No, he reasoned. They had to go on with their lives. Aidan couldn't miss a night of his play, not while he was riding the waves of his success. Dean and Richard would simply have to accompany him. They'd travel in packs until this was sorted out.

_Thank you,_ he texted back. _Am at the safe hotel, room 527._ Lee would know where to come, if he wanted to. _They are asleep. About to join them. Love you._ He added the last two words with a soft smile.

Many years had passed and he still loved Lee. Richard would always love Lee. He shucked his shirt and shoes and slipped carefully into the spot next to Dean. Neither of them stirred. He lay studying them in the dim light, listening to the rise of falls of their lungs, scenting their youth and admiring their beauty.

But he was thinking about Rob when he fell asleep.

When Aidan woke, it was too early for the hour to be traditionally godly. He winced when he read the alarm clock—5:43 a.m.—and pulled Dean closer to himself. His eyes closed, but fluttered open again at having found Richard to be lying opposite him. He blinked slowly, still drowsy.

The other man must have felt it, for his eyes opened and looked at him. Aidan's mouth went dry.

"Is it done?" he whispered, so as not to wake Dean.

Richard shook his head. "Lee's still looking," he whispered. "Go back to sleep, Aidan."

"Okay." Curls brushed against Dean's skin and Aidan stilled, afraid to wake him up. His eyes were still on Richard. He couldn't sleep. "Thanks. I haven't been nice to you lately, but you've done a lot for him...so, thanks."

"Maybe someday you'll feel like it," Richard said softly, "being nice, I mean. I'm not a bad man, Aidan. Violence doesn't sit well with me—despite being borne out of it. I've had many, many years in which to find myself. There's much I could teach you, and Dean, if you'd let me."

"About vampires, you mean?" A yawn stretched across Aidan's face. He smiled sleepily. The drowsiness made him dead honest. "I just want him close. I never thought it'd be this hard, you know. And then there's Rob. Does it get easier, Richard? Or is he going to be drawn to someone else supernaturally one day? I'm not sure I can share him."

Richard reached across Dean's soundly sleeping form and used his fingers to push a few errant curls back from Aidan's face. Stubbornly, they immediately fell back down and Richard smiled softly. 

"Beautiful, sweet boy," he whispered. "People like me—like Dean—feel things very intensely. Any love he had for you as a man will be doubled, tripled, _quadrupled_ now. He might not be able to cope with it. Nor will you, sometimes. He's exhausted now. The change...it's jarring and the adjustment tiring. He may have become a tiger, but at this point, he is still but a cub. Understand?"

Aidan smiled, stretching around Dean protectively. "A little. I'll learn to understand, I think. It’ll just take time." His eyes shut and he burrowed deeper into the warmth, before a sleepy frown had him look at Richard again. "I haven't been sweet to you. Why would you say that?"

Nor did Richard thinking him beautiful make sense—yet that was an entirely different area that he wasn't sure he wanted to tread upon now.

"Dean is like a son to me now," Richard explained, "which makes you family as well. He adores you. I can think of no other person who'll take care of him as well as you will. Your strength, your convictions, your passion—how I admire them." 

His blue eyes didn't waver. "Now... sleep," he insisted

Aidan didn't want to sleep. He fought against the pull, although his body denied him what he needed steadily. "I fight for what's mine," he murmured. "Rob had better know it. I trust you to do the same."

When he succumbed to sleep, he slept for longer than Dean or Richard. Aidan remained unaware of Lee entering the room a few hours later, waking Richard with a single, subtle knock.

"Nothing," Lee whispered to Richard from the balcony, while his eyes strayed back to the bed. "I thought I had him. I don't understand how he could have gotten away. He shouldn't be here. Will, he..."

"How can we know?" Richard too watched the bed, where Dean was stirring to wakefulness. "You've surely heard the rumors about Will and his vampire psychology..." he frowned. "And Jed's always been a bit too odd for my tastes. But his anger management skills... I thought Rob could benefit from those or I would have put him down myself."

"If he's here, then I don't think those skills were put to good use." Lee leaned against the railing. The wind was chilled, up here, but downstairs the noise of the streets disturbed any peace he could have had. The door was closed; the two on the bed couldn't hear him when he spoke. "What do we do? With them, I mean? It could be days before I track him down. Maybe some of the others will spot him, but you know how they are. Passive until warfare lands in their own backyards. Dean is in danger as he is, not to mention Aidan. He'd be such an easy target, Richard."

"Maybe Rob's come back for another reason," Richard turned up his collar against the cold. "You remember how he was when I took him away, practically begging Dean to keep feeding on him. He seems like the type who'd enjoy the life of a donor. Who knows what happened to him while he was with Will and Jed? Maybe they turned him. Maybe they've changed him somehow."

Lee sighed. "You know I don't care. If he so much as extends one finger in their direction, he's dead. In fact, he should have been long dead already. He's never been good news, and he isn't good news even if he's just here to have Dean feed on him. I think Dean's best bet for that is Aidan. What did you tell Will? You told him to get him out of the country, didn't you?" He scowled. "That man has always been unpredictable."

"I suppose I should have killed him when I had the chance," Richard lamented. "I just remember far too well what an angry young man you were when you were just changed. Granted, you hadn't tried to kill anyone, but you were struggling with similar demons. I guess I'm just a sucker for troubled men," he slipped his hand into Lee's. "And I love you, for your every foible."

The responding chuckle was lost in a breeze. They had to go back in soon—Dean was waking. "You have always been sentimental, Rich. It's what I love about you. Such a waste, to finally be here again where it started and to have the bed occupied. Alas. I'll pull in a few favors, see what I can do." 

He opened the glass door to let the noise inside, and it had Aidan stir. Lee sat down on the bed. "Good morning, Dean. Awake? I think it's time we taught you a few more tricks."

"You didn't find him, did you?" Dean rolled to face Lee as the taller man sat next to him. 

"He got away." There was no point in denying the inevitable. "It was him, I confirmed it. Which makes me all the more glad that you're safe and here with us. You two did the right thing in calling Richard." Lee smiled wryly. "Shouldn't have come back, that man, because at least he had the right to live before. Well, regardless, you look like you're well fed. How do you feel?"

"Well, I'm scared," Dean told him. "Scared for me, and for Aidan. But other than that, I feel all right. I didn't even see Rob, Lee. Aidan did. I had no idea he was there—close enough to hurt Aidan. That scares me. He could do to him what he did to me." His hand, to resist trembling, fiddled with the sheets. 

At the sound of his name, Aidan roused a bit, but then rolled over sleepily in the silence that followed. Dean's eyes met Lee's meaningfully. "I need to take care of him."

"The best way to do that is to get stronger," said Lee. "He will be fine as soon as we get rid of Rob. At least until something else happens. You've fed off someone. I think it's time one of us starts your training."

"Training?" Dean frowned. "It sounds so clandestine. What am I going to learn?"

"It does, doesn't it? We'll teach you strength. Persuasion. More importantly, what you can and can't do. There are laws even for people the likes of us. We considered telling you later, but Rob..."

"Rob here means we can't wait." Richard leaned against the wall opposite them. "I'll do it. I made you; traditionally the right is mine."

"Let me get a quick shower," Dean nodded resolutely. He reached for his jeans. "But whoever isn't training me stays and takes care of Aidan. Deal?"

"Without a doubt." Lee turned on Dean resolutely. "I'd protect him with my life until you get better than me at it; you have my word."

Perhaps it was better that Aidan wasn't awake to have a say in it when Richard led Dean out, fifteen minutes later when they were both dressed. He was sure that Aidan would have tried to separate them. "This will be better for him," he said when he saw the tell-tale look on Dean's face. "Come, we've got a lot to cover."

Dean cast one more doubtful look in a sleeping Aidan's direction before turning to follow Richard out the door.

Outside, a light snow was starting to fall through the fog, giving the chilly air a note of enchantment. Dean slipped on a pair of thin leather gloves Lee had given him. Unconsciously he drew closer to Richard as they came upon a group of people.

Their path led them past the people and to Richard's car. Richard drove them past the city borders, through satellite towns and into the field. Dean did not know the direction other than that they were heading north. When they passed into a small town, he missed the sign.

In the center of that village was a church. Richard held the door open for him and led him to one of the pews in the back. "Part of our strength is knowing who we are and what were capable of. Try to speak as quietly as I do now."

Indeed, his voice never exceeded the strength of a breeze.

As quietly as Richard spoke, Dean could discern what he was saying, if he kept his mind off of his concern for Aidan and truly focused. 

"Why way out here?" he tried to match Richard's decibel level. "Why this church?" 

The air felt thick with tradition and smelled of incense.

Richard's gaze was on the altar. Few other people were in the church, but up front there were two lonely figures. Elderly people, by the look of their posture. "Because nobody knows us here. Quieter. You can hear me, can't you? Were someone sitting next to us, they'd only see our lips move, but you can do even better. Try it."

Dean had never been the type to pray, but he felt that if he talked to God—as opposed to Richard—the words might come more easily. He lowered his head, eyes intent on his interlaced fingers, "Dear God," he began, "please help me find a way to protect Aidan from the man who hurt me. I may not get out of this alive, but please, spare him. He's a good man and he doesn't deserve this cruel fate. He deserves to be happy and live a long life."

When he blinked, a tear fell from each eye to land on his clasped hands. He sniffled. "I'm the exact opposite of what we're supposed to be, aren't I?"

Richard smiled and laid a hand on his knee. "You're not supposed to be anything. This change shouldn't change who you are, and if that means you believe in God, then so be it. What we are is a biological being, Dean, not a religious one." He nodded over at the people in the front. "Try to see if you can pick up their heartbeat. You should be able to."

Dean lay his hand over Richard's. "I have never really been religious, Richard. I've never understood the notion of putting faith in something that isn't visible or tangible. But a part of me feels like the only way I might survive is if I start becoming more spiritual."

He closed his eyes and tried to focus his hearing toward the front of the church. He heard, in the echo of silence, footsteps, probably those of a priest, walking around somewhere. A match being struck and the rustling of robes. And there, just under that, a heartbeat...two...three...four...five. He smiled. "I hear them. I hear them all."

"Then you must hear mine," said Richard. He withdrew his hand with a sense of pride. Dean caught on faster than he had dared hope, given the stressful circumstances. "Listen how it beats at a double pace. That's how you can tell one of us from the rest. Given enough time, you'll even be able to subdue the volume of your own heartbeat, but that comes with years and only with sincere dedication. Rob can't know it yet. Keep your ears open and you'll sense him sooner."

Dean nodded. "It's hard to focus, with so much on my mind, and with you here, so close."

Even with all that had happened, he still harbored a strong desire for Richard. "Will I ever _not_ want you, Richard?" Dean wondered. 

Richard looked at his hands. "What do you want me to say to that? I don't want you not to want me, but it'd be easier for you, wouldn't it be?"

"I've been in love with you since I was eleven, Richard," Dean smiled. "But it's an entirely different feeling now that there actually exists a possibility. Before it was a lovely fantasy. Now," he bit his lip, "well, it's still a lovely fantasy of which I've been allowed a painfully small but delicious sample. Of course it'd be easier if I didn't want you. But I do. If it ever went away, I can't imagine how empty that would feel. Especially now. Especially with what you are to me."

It was hard for the older man not to lose his reserve at those words. He swallowed. Whatever concentration Dean had had, it was broken by that cue. "Keep it, then. I can wait—I _will_ wait, until that time that you allow me in your bed, or join me in mine. You know how I feel about that."

And just like that, the silence was loaded. The timing could not have been more inappropriate, taking Rob and the threat against both him and Aidan into the equation.

"He holds your heart, I know," breathed Richard, "but you know I'd have no qualms against something that is purely physical."

"I have come to care for you too, Richard," Dean told him. "It would certainly be more than just physical. And now, you've saved my life, given me a second chance in which I can accomplish anything I desire. I have a lifetime to make that up to you."

His words were laden with sorrow, for all he could think about was the prospect of watching Aidan grow old, and die. His heart felt heavy and suddenly, he couldn't get enough air. He raised his hand to his chest, rubbing in soothing circles as he forced air in and out of his lungs.

"How many lovers have you buried, Richard?" he asked, at length.

"...Two, before I decided on ending matters before our timelines would drift too far apart. I hope you will never have to do the same. I know you're thinking about Aidan. How could you not?" Richard sighed. "You once asked me whether Lee and I are together. We are partners in a lot of things, including the bed, but we are not made only for each other. We are not together as normal people would be. A lot of us live that way. After decades of fidelity, we often yearn for a touch of freedom. That doesn't mean I don't love him, or you Aidan. I merely mean to say it's different when your life has no ending to work towards. Hence why Lee shows an interest in him, and me, well..."

"I get it," Dean said softly. "Even when you know you won't live to see one hundred, _forever_ seems like a mighty long commitment. But that doesn't really do anything for the pain in my heart right now. Distract me. Tell me about how and when you were made, Richard," Dean turned towards him. "I want to know."

In the dim light of the sanctuary, Richard studied Dean. He hadn't considered turning Aidan? It had come into Lee's mind, as well as Richard's, but then again, to turn a lover was a dangerous thing. Only when it was rationally the best choice should it be made, for emotions were fickle over the span of centuries, and Aidan would be torn from his natural world to see the people around him perish.

"I was born in Prussia a long time ago, in a place not far from Berlin." He started. "I was a simple boy on a farm, destined to spend my life with his hands in the soil, find a girl of my station and support my family—though what I wanted really was to study. I did find a girl. She was passing through on her way to the city when we met, and he wasn't anything like the girls I had seen before. She was dressed in the finest silks, a smile of sophistication that could turn any man's head, and a laugh that could charm an empire. I was head over heels, and she was amused by that.

"Her name was Maria. Nothing had to happen for me to follow her into the city when she left, several days later. A few friends joined me, equally enraptured by her presence. I suppose we all hoped we stood a chance, seventeen and without any titles or money to our name, and yet ignorant of the world. Then we unexpectedly found Hans dead in an alley, the night when he got away from us to follow her by himself and increase his chances. We quickly grew up after that, and we planned to return home. She was elusive, impossible to reach, and our parents were waiting for us."

Richard paused. The pair in the front hadn't noticed them, and no new parishioners had joined them. He inclined his head.

"I ran into her the night before we would leave. She was alone, strangely enough. So was I. I don't know how I managed, but I talked to her. For the first time, she took notice. As you might have guessed, there was something about her. I convinced my friends that I'd stay a few days more, that I'd follow them after I was done with my business in the city, while I spent that time in her company, sleeping on her couch because she took pity on me. She whispered to me that last night to come find her in ten years, when I'd grown up.

"I did. I never married, though my parents told me many times to stop being so stubborn. Ten years from that day, to the day, I returned to Berlin to find her. She was married then. Of course she was, a lady like her. But she looked like she hadn't aged a day. I soon found out why. She seduced me on the second day, and I woke with cramps everywhere and a loss of blood the next. I loved it, I couldn't get enough of it. It wasn't hard after three more of these events to figure out what she was. For several years, I was her lover—one of undoubtedly several—and she fed on me. I was happy with that. But then came the bubonic plague.

"It never reached Berlin, you know, but it got close, so very close. We were terrified of it. She decided she would leave the city and head for safer regions. She asked if I would come. Yes, yes I'd come. I'd have done anything for her. Perhaps that was what she had been waiting for, that dedication, that sacrifice of all things connecting me to the world. She turned me on the road, at a small inn, the first night after leaving."

Dean listened raptly to Richard's story, and silence reigned when the man stopped speaking.

"The Black Death?" Dean whispered, recalling his history classes. "That was in the 1300s. That would make you about seven hundred years old! I—oh my god, Richard. How do you...how do you _bear_ it?"

Richard chuckled and shook his head. "The seventeenth century Plague. Seven hundred years! Even I have never come across a man that old."

"Oh," Dean's eyes fell to his lap. "Still, that's incredible. The things you've seen and done! No wonder you have such a worldly, cultured manner about you." A blush colored his cheeks. "The stories you could tell me! I hope you will, someday."

Dean tried to imagine what it would be like, one hundred years from now, two hundred, still having the same body and brain he did right now. It was impossible to fathom. His distress must have shown on his face, because Richard reached for his hand.

"What else would you like to teach me?" Dean asked, glad for the diversion.

A long silence spread in the church, as one of the women rose to her feet and shuffled to the large double doors. She spared then a glance and wondered what two young men were doing here, but soon she passed them and forgot about them.

"Compulsion," Richard said. "It's important that you learn it. Not against Rob, of course, but to make sure you can draw others to your aid if need be. It's not easy though. It'll require practice."

Dean nodded. "I'm eager to learn that. It...well, it fascinates me. I've spent far too much time over-analyzing every conversation you and I have ever had, trying to figure out when you were compelling me, and when you weren't. I've come to the conclusion that it doesn't matter."

"I wasn't...much. The thing is, it's hard to control when you want or need something very strongly. You would think the world picks up on it, but really it's just you. People will want to help you even if they've never seen you before. I forbade Lee from compelling Aidan. Push people too far and it'll come back to you. I can't teach you how it works, not exactly. Some day you'll just know. But you can start by trying to think of wanting something strongly around people."

"I understand that feeling completely," Dean smiled softly. "That day I auditioned for _Friendly Fire_ , and I was on that stage with you, I felt like I might have well been wearing a sign around my neck that said _I have a giant crush on Richard Armitage._ " he chuckled. "But something tells me I wasn't alone that day." He looked around the quiet, nearly empty sanctuary. "I'll try it somewhere else. It doesn't seem right to do it here, Richard."

Richard leaned closer to whisper, thought he needn't have. "Try it on Aidan. Something small, like making breakfast. Then when you've got the hang of it, never do it around him again. He will know how it feels, and that's good for him too. It means he can learn to guard himself against it. He is your weakness, Dean, and people like Rob might try to take advantage of it until they learn that he's not to be toyed with."

Dean drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out again.

"I can't believe I'm sitting here, having this conversation, with you," he ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. "It's like something out of a bad young adult novel. I don't feel right being away from Aidan like this for so long. What if Rob was watching Lee? What if he knows where to find them?"

"Then Rob will be dead before we make it home. Lee is more capable than anyone of standing his ground, especially because he won't hold back. There is one more place I'd like to take you. I'm afraid coming here was with a purpose." He got up and extended a hand to Dean. When the other visitor looked over her shoulder, he inclined his head politely.

They made it outside and took a stroll until they stopped in front of the gates of the graveyard. Richard led them up the main gravel and to the far left. He stopped in front of a gravestone. "She was my second," he said. "I'm sorry to bring you here. Death is unfortunately part of our lives. So is life. I gave her three children. I don’t see much of them, but I make sure they do well. She lived a long life. She knew."

"You have children?" Dean murmured. "That's amazing."

Yet all Dean could think about was that some day, he might be visiting Aidan's grave. For a moment, he couldn't speak around the lump in his throat.

"She didn't want to join you and live forever?" he wondered, gloved hand touching the hard stone.

Richard shook his head. Evelyn Armitage died a long time ago, but she was still dear to him. "She didn't want to. We had sons, one daughter. She wanted to live her life, be there for them. I asked her, but she always refused. She had a good life. You think of him, don't you? Aidan is still young. He can live a good life too. You can give him that. Never let the transcendence of life stop you from living it. You owe it to him."

"It's not a gift," Dean concluded sadly, slipping his hand into Richard's, "what you did for me. It's a curse." He studied the dates on the stone. "Your kids, are they still alive?"

"They are. I know, and I'm sorry. It was a selfish decision. You had your life ahead of you and I couldn't bear to see it seep out of you. But Dean, there are beautiful parts about it too. Don't think about how you'll see him die. You can make sure he truly lives before that day ever comes."

"I'm not mad at you, Richard," Dean told him. "Please don't think that. I didn't want to die. The idea of being _like you,_ it's very appealing. I have all the time I ever wanted to learn to do things...play the piano, paint. I can write plays now, and travel. It's overwhelming. I'm overjoyed and I'm grieving at the same time. It's a horrible feeling. I don't know what to do first. I’m also afraid to do anything. I don't feel like I deserve this."

Richard turned to him. There was a knowing smile on his lips, like he had been there too, many many years ago. "None of us deserve this, and all do. Those that beg to be turned into a vampire, those that crave this life, they're the first ones to be put in their place. We hardly ever turn a person by choice without there being other reasons. It can turn a man insane, and nobody wants to create a man that will think himself superior for all time, though most of us have come to feel that way when asked. Treat it like a natural change."

"I'll try," Dean assured him. "I'm glad I have you and Lee helping me. I know in time Aidan will come to appreciate you both as much as I do."

\- - - - - 

"Anger is like cancer," Will said with certainty, raising his glass of whiskey as if to toast the notion. "It will devour your soul and kill you as sure as any cancer."

"Are you a shrink or something?" Rob wondered, sleepy eyes focused on the fire.

Jed chuckled over his newspaper.

"As a matter of fact, I was," Will told him. "But I no longer practice. At least, not officially."

"Tell him why, William," Jed prompted.

"If you must know," Will leaned in conspiratorially, "I got in trouble for encouraging some of my patients' _baser_ urges."

"You mean—?"

"A fellow wanted to kill his wife," Will said matter-of-factly, "and so I told him to do it. I did that for a few of my patients, just to see what would it happen. As it turns out, I was more interested in deviant behavioral science than in truly helping people."

Rob snorted. "Apparently."

"As I was saying," Will sat his glass down on the table and poured another two fingers worth of drink, "anger is like cancer. It will eat away at you—unless you properly cleanse yourself of it."

"And how does one do that?" Rob asked.

"You have to take care of unfinished business," Will tossed back the liquor. 

"Unfinished business?" Rob dreaded the answer.

"You need to finish what you started, young man," Jed closed the newspaper and put it down. "Closure is incredibly healing."

"You two," Rob's gaze moved slowly back and forth between the two, "I cannot tell if you're incredibly generous, or clinically insane."

"Can't we be both?" Will chuckled. "Every relationship needs that little spark that kindles the romance."

"Stop it now, Will," Jed warned. "He's terrified. His poor heart's going a mile a minute. Rob, listen," he turned back to the blond, "we would never send you out there unarmed. We've been working on a little something. A bit of an... _elixir_...and it adds a bit of a kick to the biological changes that vampirism brings about."

"A kick?" Rob wondered.

"It will make you stronger, faster, stealthier and hungrier," Will listed these traits off on his fingers. "We've been doing some trial and error with hormone and gene therapy. It's a potent cocktail, and it's been foolproof, so far. If you were to start using it, there's no question you could be victorious against any other vampire you ran across. There's just one small catch."

Rob started to reach for his mug, but his hand was trembling so badly he pulled it back into his lap. “W-what’s the catch?” he wondered.

"I'd need to turn _you_ into a vampire first," Jed explained.


	18. It Was Never This Dusty In Boston (An Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee and Richard meet for the first time...
> 
> (an interlude)

The sky was azure above, and nearly cloudless. It also hadn't rained in a spell and the dust was particularly bad that day. It set Lee to coughing. It didn't take much to get him started anymore. He reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a hankie. He coughed into it, wetly, trying to avoid the eyes of others on the street. He looked down and was not surprised that there were a few drops of blood there.

"Morning, Mrs. Jackson," he raised his cowboy hat pleasantly to a woman standing outside her bakery. 

"Is that cough still hanging on, Lee?" she asked him.

"I'm afraid so," he smiled apologetically. "This dry weather isn't helping."

"It should, though," she seemed genuinely concerned. "Have you seen the doctor?"

"Coupla’ times, ma'am," he told her. 

"You ought to see another," she tut-tutted. "Dr. Balmer's in town today. He was saying earlier he'd purchased some new cough elixirs when he was back east. You should go see him before he leaves again."

"I haven't the time, ma'am," Lee pulled out his pocket watch, then snicked it shut adeptly. "I've got tickets to Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show. Starts in 10 minutes."

"Those crazy yanks!" she scoffed, shaking her head. "You know they'll make a mockery of us, Lee."

"I'm looking forward to seeing that," he smiled mysteriously, raising a hand in parting, and kept moving down the street. 

It was Beaumont, Texas. The year was 1885, and Lee was dying of tuberculosis.

\- - - - - 

The tent was raised on the outskirts of town, a large dome of crisp white canvas. They could have done the show under the open sky, but the tent added to the suspense of the show to build a small world of its own. A bustle of activity surrounded it; most of them were general employees, but every now and then several kids in the line got excited and they saw a man dressed as a cowboy or an Indian from one of the trailers.

A statuesque man in a suede waistcoat and a top hat—he could have been English without the stubble or the color in his dress—smiled at Lee upon accepting his ticket and allowed him to pass. "Take it easy," he said under his breath so that Lee could hardly tell he had spoken just by looking at him. "You have a front row seat, and the floor seats tend to be dusty. Have a good time, sir."

Lee kept moving with the throng, but every now and then, he turned his head back to try to catch a glimpse of the man who'd warned him about the dust. Why would he do that? How could he have possibly known the dust tended to bother Lee? 

He had been handsome, that man in the top hat. And his voice had caused a stirring in Lee's loins that he hadn't felt in some time. Lee was not, by nature, a very sexual being. At age 16 he'd had a roll in the hay with a prostitute—because he'd heard that's what he was supposed to do. It wasn't terribly enjoyable, although she had been quite sweet and they'd remained friends. So friendly, in fact, that she suggested he maybe try out a relationship with a man. There had been a few drunken fumbles behind pubs, but never anything worthwhile.

Lee had resigned himself—especially now that he had the consumption—of dying alone and without offspring. Besides, he preferred the company of a good book. In books, he could travel anywhere and learn anything. It was nothing short of miraculous.

The inside of the tent had an air of excitement and it was a bit warm, despite the fact that the tent blocked out the sun. He settled down onto his bench seat, a bag of sweet kettle corn in one hand and a bottle of sarsaparilla in the other. He hoped the man in the top hat was part of the show.

The wait was long. Children began to whine impatiently and the conversations were less and less hushed. When a single incandescent spotlight fell into the center of the ring and the crowd silenced, several mothers sighed in relief.

A man with an enormous belly, a cowboy hat and attire welcomed the crowd. He clearly wasn't going to ride, himself. He had them at the tip of their seats before stepping aside. Promptly ten horsemen came out circling the ring from both left and right, in their hands each carrying a waving flag. They rode poised and in control, except for two, who chased the wind and each other.

Children pointed their fingers at one of them. "Look!" one close to Lee whispered, "it's the ticket man!"

"Hush. Of course he's not. He's a _cowboy_ , George."

The ticket-man, as the little boy had called him, was dressed in an over-the-top, gaudy representation of a cowboy. His polished spurs, larger than life six shooters and oversized ten gallon hat would have never been practical for wearing on a working ranch. 

He did, however, cut an impressive figure on the dark stallion he was riding. Clearly, he'd had some training. As the equine ballet continued, the ticket-man drew one out of his pistols and shot the cowboy hat off the head of the man in front of him.

Surely it had to have been a trick of some sort. No one could make that shot.

Lee was to be proven wrong. After several feats of thrilling horseback riding, most of the riders vanished. The ticket-man, however, moved to the center ring and reloaded his guns. His eyes scanned the crowd. More than once they locked with Lee's. It felt intimate, like the caress of a lover. Despite the heat, and what Lee was sure was a fever coming on, he shivered.

"I need a volunteer," the ticket man said loudly at last. It turned out that he _was_ an Englishman. "Are there any brave folks among us today?" He held up a cherry red apple. "Anyone who dares balance this apple on the top of their head?"

Children raised their hands and shouted for his attention, to the horror of their mothers, who quickly tried to get their sons to lower their hands.

The ticket-man looked at Lee once again, challenging him.

What did he have to lose? A bullet to the forehead would certainly be a swifter end to his life than coughing up bits of his lungs and drowning in his own blood. Besides, it would give him an opportunity to get closer to the man who'd caught his eye.

He stood. "I reckon I'm willing," he said, eyes locked on the English cowboy holding the apple.

Men around him chortled with laughter. It was no secret that Pace was scrawny and bookish and nothing like the farm-raised men of his age, who were muscular and bragging instead, and certainly made a poorly suitable candidate compared to the others. But only as soon as Lee had his hand raised, did they thrust theirs up.

It changed little. The ticket-man gestured for Lee to come to the center of the tent and asked him for his name as soon as their hands shook. His own, he introduced before the audience, was Richard Armstrong, and if they had not heard his name yet, they'd remember it after today.

"Stand over here," he told Lee, and positioned him in the middle of the ring, in front of a large bullseye. Richard winked at him as he procured another apple, from which he took one bite and handed it over. He mounted his horse again, circling the target. "Now," he announced to the people of Beaumont, "I will shoot the apple from his head, and the one from his hand, while firing only once," two revolvers spun in his hands, "astride."

Lee should have been terrified, but the wink from Mr. Armstrong had filled him with an eerie calm. He was prepared, if that's what fate had in store for him, to die under that garish tent surrounded by townspeople who'd mostly never truly understood him.  
"Don't I at least get a blindfold?" Lee quipped; this brought nervous laughter from the crowd.

But Armstrong was already circling him on his beautiful horse. Lee stood straight as an arrow, and although a tickle was rising in his chest from all the displaced dust, he held the apple at arm's length, calming his breathing to ease the sensation. Each time Armstrong circled him, their eyes met. His mind wandered, curious about what a man like Richard Armstrong had for breakfast, what he did when he wasn't shooting at people under a tent... how he looked without his clothing…

There was a loud report of gunfire and Lee felt the apple being pulled from his hand and a dull thud behind his head as that apple too was dislodged. He hadn't died. Armstrong had done exactly what he'd said he would.

Lee wasn't sure whether or not he should be glad.

Very soon Armstrong got off the stallion to accept the applause from the audience. He took a bow, grasped Lee's hand just in time and pulled him along.

"You look disappointed," he whispered between them. "What do you say? Shall we make it an honest show? I have three more apples and a bow and arrow."

Lee felt a strong rush of adrenaline and a knee-shaking heat burst through him when Richard touched his hand.

He nodded. "Sure, friend. Whatever you'd like to try. Just tell me what to do."

Up close, he could see that Richard's eyes were a startling blue. He smelled incredible—like leather, gun oil and something indefinable. A sadness washed over Lee then. He would have liked to try to take this man home with him, maybe see what came of that. But hosting a contagious disease—it wouldn't be fair to either of them.

It wasn't fair. Thirty-three was far too young to die. Running into Richard Armstrong had filled him with a strong desire to truly live.

Unbeknownst, Richard squeezed his hand before he proposed the idea to the audience, who cheered all the louder for it. He grinned at Lee, took a bow, and handed him another apple. "Hold it where you want it," he instructed him, "but rest assured, I know what I'm doing. You could be moving and I'd find a way to snatch it off you. You're a wonderful assistant, by the way. Go for it. This is your moment too."

And it really was. One look at the people told Lee that for an audience so used to think him a pansy book-lover, they looked on in suspense and, oddly, admiration.

The thrill of being the center of attention surprised Lee. He'd always been a bit of a wallflower, but something in Richard Armstrong's eyes spurred him on.

"How about here?" He held the golden apple at arm's length in the palm of his hand.

What if the arrows missed and pierced his hand? It'd be worth it, just to have had that hand touched by such a handsome fellow.

"Perfect!" Richard mounted his horse again and notched an arrow. He drove the horse into a gallop and circled him several times to harness the tension in the ring to further heights. When the crowd could not get louder, he loosened the first arrow—then the next, and the third. They all lodged themselves into the same apple in Lee's hand.

Lee held the apple up proudly, gesturing grandly at Armstrong.

"Well done, Mr. Armstrong!" he called. "Shall we try something more dangerous?"

Lee thought for brief moment, then leaned over, placing the next apple between his knees. "Do you dare try this?"

The arrow bored into the apple not seconds later. "Make the last a challenge!" Richard dared him while circling him again.

Lee drew in a long, steadying breath. 

"Only if you promise not to mess up this face!" he joked, and turned to smile and wink at a few young ladies in the audience.

Lee then took the apple into his mouth, holding it in place with his teeth, neck thrust out. He was asking for death.

Richard could tell when everyone else could not. He made sure that the last arrow hit its target, intentionally nearly missing—the crowd went completely silent, until it burst out cheering—and thanked Lee for his assistance. "Such a brave man," he said aloud, "his wife must be proud of him."

Of course Lee couldn't say anything else than what Richard expected him to say at that. Richard quirked a brow and suggestively turned to one of the ladies Lee had eyed, like he was an opportunity they did not want to pass up on. They didn't appear willing to do so any longer. "A warm round of applause for Mr. Pace, please."

As the audience cheered, Richard whispered to Lee, "Come find me after the show. I'd like to talk to you," and sent him back to his seat.

Wiping apple juice off his chin, Lee sat down, smiling. He was clapped on the back so many times as he sat in his seat that he nearly went into a coughing fit several times. The children around him seemed in awe. The women batted their eyes. The men, full of gruff bravado, were convinced he'd been planted as part of the show. Either way, everyone who knew who he was, was looking at him through new eyes.

Lee could only think about what was going to happen when he went backstage to find Richard Armstrong. 

The next act, cowboys chasing around a group of Indians with lariats, was a blur. All he could think about was the handsome cowboy.

When the show ended, Lee pushed through the crowd, many of whom wanted to stop and chat with him, and out through a tent flap into blinding sunshine, desperate to find Richard—the first person who'd ever made him truly feel—even this close to death—alive.

A short man from the staff found him when he was looking around, made a noise like he'd been looking for him, and proceeded to pull him along until they were among the caravan. "Mr. Armstrong would like to see you in his trailer," he said. "I must say, it's not every day a volunteer shows such trust in his ability, though he certainly earns it. I dare say the man is the best gunman in the South as we speak. If a man comes along to rival his ability, well, I'll be damned."

The man knocked on the door and stepped back.

As soon as Richard opened, he took a bow and made off. Richard looked Lee over once. He hadn't yet washed himself after their performance, but several buttons were undone to cool himself off, and his boots were kicked off. He looked fairly relaxed—and fairly indecent for a man expecting company.

"Ah. There you are. I was hoping to talk to you. Would you like to come in? I've got tea, if you like. Cool water, too."

"I wouldn't say no to a cold drink," Lee's eyes lit up. "The dust plays havoc with my throat," he explained.

Lee looked around the inside of Richard's wagon. The small space was surprisingly homey, the walls decorated with exotic posters of other productions and places. The dressing table was covered with high-end pomades and cologne. "Is this where you live?" Lee wondered. His eyes fell on a narrow bunk in the corner, made up with tight precision, just the way Lee liked it.

"This is where I live," Richard confirmed. He offered Lee the best seat in the wagon—admittedly, there were only two—and handed him a glass of cool spring water. It was a luxury in the onslaught of the heat outside. Upon sitting down, Richard looked at him. "Forgive me for putting this bluntly. You're dying," he said. "You weren't afraid this afternoon because you're dying, am I right?"

Lee took a long sip of the water, savoring the coolness in his constantly burning throat. "I have the consumption," he confessed. "Mother caught it first. She worked for a doctor back east and caught it there. I cared for her when she became bedridden. It's a vicious cycle I suppose. The best I can do is not pass it along to anyone else. I came out west a few years ago. I was told the air here would be better for me. I'm not quite sure I believe that. It was never this dusty in Boston."

Lee looked slowly around the room. "You have such interesting things, Mr. Armstrong. Colorful things."

Richard laughed. "Oh, trinkets. People sometimes give me things, and then there are memories that I'd like to keep of a place. But I don't like to be tied down by them. Maybe in a few years I can make someone happy offering them." He tilted his head. "Does that mean you have no family here? I must admit, the crowd loved you a lot more than my usual volunteers, yet I don't believe it is because everyone loves you as you are. Which is also why I wanted to talk to you, I suppose. You're very intriguing."

Lee scoffed, huffing air out his nose. "I've been called many things—most of them derogatory—but never intriguing," he smiled. "I like it."

He finished his water and reluctantly put down the glass. "I'm a bit out of place here in Beaumont. People around here don't take kindly to folks who like to read and further their education. Plus, I'm tall—in case you haven't noticed—and the consumption has given me a bit of a slump. I suppose I have come to resemble Ichabod Crane. That's what some of the people around here call me when they think I can't hear them."

He studied his hands sadly. "What you do...it's nothing short of amazing."

"It's practice, Mr. Pace. Years of it." Careless of the consumption, Richard leaned closer to him. "I will leave this town tomorrow, go where the show takes me. I never stay around for long. How does that life seem to you?"

Lee swallowed audibly and looked Richard in the eye. "It sounds wonderful," he admitted. "I felt something today in that tent that I haven't felt in...well, in years, to be honest."

"Perfect," smiled Richard. "How would you like it if you could feel it every day? I couldn't offer you a nice paycheck. I frankly am barely able to afford more than the bare necessities, myself, and I'm technically not even supposed to be offering you this. But you could see the world if you wanted to. I'm not asking until the end of the line. A few shows with us. How about it?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Lee leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I'm sick, Mr. Armstrong. Dying. I'm a danger to everyone around me, simply by breathing."

"I'm not afraid," shrugged Richard. "And we could work something out for the others. You were in the audience today."

"I needed to do something... _different_ ," Lee frowned. "I hadn't expected to become a spectacle. I'm really a very solitary person, Mr. Armstrong. People don't take easily to me."

Another glass of water was poured for him. Richard drank from his own cup of tea. "I understand. It's not for everyone. In that case I hope my work will bring me here to Beaumont again and in time. If I spot you in my audience again, I will pick you. You have my word, unless you would not raise your hand."

"I would," Lee assured him. "In a heartbeat. In fact, I think I'd like very much to go with you when you leave Beaumont—if your offer was truly genuine."

Richard raised a brow. "Very genuine. You mean you will consider it? We leave tomorrow, but I could show you around, make sure you know what you're getting into." He scratched behind his ear. The hot tea in combination with the temperature outside made his skin itch. "I would like that, to see how many ways you can hold that apple for me. I promise you, not a scratch."

"Do you know what I was thinking, while I held that apple in my teeth?" Lee asked. His eyes had misted over with tears.

"I hope not that you wished my aim not to be true."

"I'm going to die. Drown with my own blood filling my lungs," Lee blinked and a tear ran from each eye. He didn't wipe it away. "Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I can feel it starting to happen. The terror I feel...it's indescribable. Goodness, I'm so sorry," he said, pulling out a fresh hankie and wiping his eyes. "I don't really talk about this with anyone. I don’t have any friends here, really. I—I don't know what I was thinking."

Richard sat forward. He reached for Lee's hands—not the first too-familiar thing he had done that hour—and shook his head. "Hey. We all fear death. It's natural. You've got some time left in you though. I'd rather see you smile a while longer."

Lee cocked his head to the side, studying Richard, as if waiting for the joke to be on him. He saw nothing but honest concern and a question.

"I'll do it," Lee said softly. "I'll go with you."


	19. You're Raising A Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan has a chance to bond with both Lee and Richard. We learn an interesting truth about Will.

Lee's gaze stretched over the area. The river Thames circled its way through pillars of concrete and glass, the day overcast and dreary. It was a dull day. If more snow would fall, perhaps it would be nice still, but the few flakes that had touched the streets had already melted. Nobody would find them up here. Even from the street he wouldn't be noticeable. Lee knew how to blend into his background in a way that had people disregard him as well as he knew how to get everyone's attention.

In the hotel room sat Aidan, undoubtedly bored. He leafed through some hotel brochures to amuse himself, but he had been explicitly told to stay off his phone, off the internet, and to make sure nobody could trace him. He was also kept away from the windows.

"What will happen tonight?" he asked Lee. "Do I get to perform? He would know I'd be there, wouldn't he? But if I lose this role..."

"If Dean and Richard haven't returned by the time you need to be at the theater, I'll accompany you," Lee informed him. "You're not going to lose your job over this, Aidan. Your commitment to this, your first big role, is paramount. I understand that all too well."

A knock sounded at the door. "It would seem our brunch has arrived," Lee smiled, and went to the door. He expediently paid and thanked Room Service, and brought their trays to the hotel's small table. "Bon appétit," he announced with small fanfare, uncovering Aidan's omelet and a generous side of bacon.

And although Aidan had no reason to smile, he did try to for Lee's sake. It was all less than ideal, but he recognized the effort that was put into trying to make the situation bearable. "I wonder if Rob would use a gun. An audience full of anonymous faces...it would be so easy, wouldn't it be?"

"You mustn’t think about that," Lee said gently, taking the lid off his own tray to reveal a ham steak and two eggs, over easy. "Speculating only breeds fear. If I were Rob, I'd want to be getting as far away from England as I could right now. If Richard or I see him, we will tear him limb from limb, I assure you." He pushed a small dish containing orange marmalade in Aidan's direction. "This looks wonderful. I do love orange marmalade on rye toast."

Pulling a face, Aidan nudged it back. "Sorry." He looked wistfully outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. "What are Richard and Dean doing?"

"If I know Richard—and I know him quite well—he's probably taken him out to Hersham. It's a small town west of here where his wife is buried." Lee waited for Aidan to digest what he'd just said, then went on. "Richard buried her twenty years ago. They have three children. We are capable of procreating. Does that surprise you?"

Aidan shrugged. "I never expected to have kids with Dean anyway. It doesn't really matter. Do they inherit your side of the genes though, or the human side? And what if you'd get kids with one of your own kind?" From disinterested he soon found himself leaning forward for an answer. "Richard was married? But you and him are lovers, aren't you?"

"That's a lot of questions," Lee smiled. "I'll start with the easy one. Yes, Richard and I are lovers. Very passionate lovers, in fact. But we have a very open relationship. He has had a few great loves in his life. I supposed I'd be a fool to consider myself one of them." He looked sad, but only briefly. "It's the longevity, you see. For non-vampires to be married forty, fifty years or more is a major accomplishment. That sort of dedication and forgiveness—well, it's admirable. But imagine how challenging that same amount of patience and forgiveness would be if the two of you would live forever. It's a recipe for madness, don't you think? Hence the open relationship."

He sat back, took a bit of his ham a chewed thoughtfully, then asked. "Does that make you uncomfortable? The notion that Dean might tire of you?"

"Of course it does." Leaning back, Aidan physically shielded himself, rubbing his arm absently. "But that has nothing to do with what Richard made him. All I can do is trust him and have good faith. So what about offspring?"

"Ah yes... _that._ " Lee winced, tasting his too-hot tea. "It's not possible for a female vampire to conceive. There's issues of metabolism. The babies gestate too quickly and all that. But a male vampire can sire children with a normal woman. I must tell you though, those children...they're _different._ I don't mean to say unusual, but special. They rarely get ill. Most are exceptional in some way—an artist, a doctor—they're a brilliant lot. And they do age, but a bit slower than most. Most stay quite young and rather attractive well into their late 60s. Then, nature catches up with them."

He pushed his egg yolks around with his fork. "Many of them are troubled as well as successful. Easily bored, they can sometimes resort to acting out...criminal behavior and all that. But they're an all right sort, I suppose. They do everything with great gusto."

"So Richard's children are like that too, probably? It's weird to think of him having kids. Do you have any kids?"

"Me?" Lee chuckled softly. "Gods, no. Ghastly little fonts of snot and whining." He paused. "Besides, I don't really swing that way, if you catch my drift. Richard's youngest, Will, though, he's a decent sort. He took Rob off our hands for us."

Aidan's eyes clouded over. "You mean he couldn't hold onto Rob and now he's back here? Richard brought him to his own _son_? That sounds like it's more than a little messed up." He skewered a piece of omelet on his fork and prodded it until it looked more like scrambled egg. "Can we see him? If Rob escaped and he hasn't gotten in touch with Richard about it yet, the least we can do is pay him a visit ourselves. We're just," he nearly flung the fork somewhere on the bed, "sitting bait right here."

"Will's a psychiatrist—or, rather, he used to be," Lee told him. "He specializes in helping people cope with having a vampire in their life, in one way or another. It's an odd specialization, but apparently a very necessary one. He's also always been quite adept at channeling people out of the country without too many questions asked. As to what might have gone wrong with Rob, it's anyone's guess. We'll find out soon enough. Rest assured, if Rob comes after us here, he'll be no match for me, Aidan."

"But why aren't we going there? Just...call him or something. Maybe he knows more. At least it'll give us something to go by." Frustrated, Aidan fell back onto the bed. "He shouldn't be out there in the first place. Richard took him to his son. Rob wasn't supposed to come back."

Lee gave this a moment of thought. He had never really bonded with Will, but Richard seemed sure enough of the man's character.

"The problem is," Lee frowned, "I've no idea how to reach him, nor where he lives. It's always Richard who contacts him, you see. And he's a secretive man. They move often, him and his boyfriend. He lives with a vampire," Lee explained, pulling his cell phone out of his back pocket. "I suppose we _could_ call Richard, see what he thinks about that idea. If it will put your mind at ease."

He dialed Richard's number and gave Aidan what he hoped was a reassuring look.

Aidan waited with bated breath as the phone rang, once, twice, five times, and switched over to voice mail. "Try again," he asked. Lee didn't have to. The phone rang in his hands. He picked up at once. "Richard."

"Lee, it's you. Sorry, the phone number...We are at the cemetery. Is everything all right?"

"I've been speaking with Aidan," Lee's voice held undertones that only Richard could interpret. They said, _humor him._ "He would feel better if you'd give Will a call and check on Rob. Maybe find out what happened there. To be honest, so would I."  
Dean, who had overheard what Lee said, raised his eyebrows questioningly. Richard held up a finger to still his queries.

"Five minutes?"

"Five minutes is good," said Lee. Opposite him, Aidan nodded in agreement.

"Hang on." Richard broke the connection. He turned to Dean. "I know you heard that. Do you want me to?"

"If it helps locate Rob, damn right I do," Dean nodded resolutely. "Aidan must be freaking out. I'm sorry."

Richard thought Dean's care for Aidan was endearing. They were good for each other. It unfortunately only made him want Dean more. He dialed another number and waited for someone on the other side to pick up. When he did, Richard wasted little time. "Jed. Hi. I was calling to check up on Rob."

"Richard, hello," Jed's voice sounded as if he were caught quite off guard. "He's here...with me and Will. In fact, he's with Will in the kitchen right now. Would you like to speak with either of them?"

Dean, having overheard, moved closer to Richard and nodded. "Find out what's going on."

"Sorry to bother you. It's, well, can I talk to Will?" Richard asked. "He is there with you now?"

"I've just said, they're in the kitchen," Jed reminded him. He walked into the townhome's kitchen, where Rob sat at the table leafing through a cookbook and Will stirred something on the stove that smelt of caramelized onions. "It's Richard," he told Will.

Rob's head shot up.

"Don't you worry, Rob," Will said gently. "I'm sure he's just checking up on you."

That was what Rob was afraid of.

"Richard?" Will took the phone from Jed. He had stopped calling him _Father_ years earlier. "Checking in on us so soon?"

"Just wondering," Richard made it sound casual, "it's been a few days. How has he been settling in? Did you arrange for him to cross the border yet? I assume you got all you need to keep him under your thumb. I was in the area, so I thought of you."

"To tell the truth," Will sighed, "Rob got off to a rocky start. He's filled with remorse about what he's done, and he's desperate to apologize—to somehow make it up to the man he stabbed. He asked to see him. We were out looking for them yesterday. The boyfriend saw Rob and...well, I guess you know the rest. I'm sure he gave them quite a fright, but I want you to know that Rob's intentions weren't nefarious, Richard. He needs closure."

" _He_ needs closure?" Dean scoffed, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

Will couldn't help but overhear this. "You know as well as I do, Richard, how painful guilt can be. It can erode you from within."

Richard breathed in deeply. He knew it was a jab. Will had always condemned him for not wanting to turn him when he was younger. He had Jed now, but neither had Jed turned him into one of them. Yet Will had still blamed Richard most of all. "Closure? I suppose it would be enough to take our word for it and have him leave Dean alone, won't it? No hard feelings." But if anything, it was Dean that needed closure—not the man who had bloody tried to kill him.

"What does he want from me?" Dean's hands, when he pulled them from his pockets, were shaking. Too recent was the stabbing pain they'd endured as he held them up to try and protect his face—failing to do so. "What can I do to make him leave us alone?"

"Is that my new _brother?_ " Will wondered. "That's what he is now, right? You made him, so he's my brother?" 

"He's not your brother," Richard said. Will's tone of voice was obvious. "He's not my child. You are my son." With a glance he meant to show Dean without informing Will that they were mere semantics for a man who cared about the difference between biological and responsible. "Can I talk to him? In person?"

"But you must care for him," Will pressed. "I know you wouldn't turn someone lightly. He must be very special. Rob certainly can't stop talking about him."

Dean huffed in annoyance and strode away, shaking his head, suddenly very interested in the statue of an angel twenty feet away.

"I'm sorry, _Father_ ," Will's tone softened. "After all this time, it's hard not to feel jealous. You've always held a place in your heart for Lee...and now this one. It was kind of you to save him from the brink of death like that. I'm going to hand the phone to Rob now."

And just like that, the conversation was over.

"Mr. Armitage?" Rob asked tentatively.

"Rob." Weary now, Richard leaned against a pillar of the fence surrounding the outer borders of the graveyard. "How have they treated you? Aidan saw you in London yesterday. You scared him quite a bit. Dean is doing better though, perhaps you'd like to know."

"Please tell Aidan he doesn't need to fear me," Rob said. "I like him. I've been chatting with Jed and Will, about how to deal with my anger. I'm learning a lot. They're going to send me to Australia soon. I won't be a bother," he told Richard, hoping the man would believe it.

"Australia?" It sounded nice. Will had connections there, and he'd be literally on the other side of the world. Richard wanted to believe it. He watched Dean, hope budding. "I'm sorry I had to send you to them. You were too dangerous, but it is good to hear you're doing well. They are good people, Rob."

When Dean turned, Richard just flipped his phone cover shut. He smiled tentatively. "I'm not sure, Dean, but he sounded reasonable."

"I trust you, Richard," Dean said softly, tracing over the patterns in the angel's wing with one finger. He did not look at Richard. "You saved my life. You love me. I know you're taking care of me."

\- - - - - 

Rob, after the line went dead, turned to Will with a smile. "I'm pretty sure he bought it."

Jed leaned back. "I'm sure he did. You kept cool. Nice. So what are you doing next?" He looked at Will. "Australia. Really?"

"Maybe," Will raised his eyebrows at Rob, "eventually. But not yet. First, he has something he needs to get out of his system. After that, I think leaving the country might well be in order, don't you?"

"You are sure you want to go there?" asked Jed. "I'm all for whatever you choose and you know it, but there's no going back, you know that right? Rob?"

Rob sat looking down at his hands, open on the table in front of him. "All I can tell you," he said in a voice so hushed it was almost a whisper, "is that I have never felt more alive than when I had that knife in my hand and his flesh was splitting under it." He looked up, a corona of red around each eye. "I want to feel it again."

"And you shall, my boy," Will assured him. "As much as you like. Come downstairs with me, Rob," he insisted. "I have something for you."

Jed followed them with the grace withheld from Will. His every move was a dance without it being rehearsed or unnatural. Artists had had him as their muse. _You're raising a killer_ , he had told Will, after Rob had been brought to him. _He is bloodthirsty. You can tell, and you love it, don't you?_ He had always admired that in Will. He saw people as who they were, not as how they needed to be, and he loved them for it. "Just Dean?" he asked. "I've seen how you look when you mention his partner. And Richard, and Lee. Who else?"

"Richard is _not_ to be harmed," Will turned to him. "Despite our differences, despite that I've never felt the true warmth of his love, he is, and always shall be, my father." He opened the door to the basement. "We'll let Rob bring the object of his hatred here." 

He turned on the light illuminating their laboratory. It had been neglected of late. "Now that Dean's a vampire, Rob can take his time, carving him up to his leisure. As long as he doesn't kill the whelp. He'll have a permanent outlet for his frustrations, and you and I will have someone on whom to test some of our theories about regenerative vampire tissue."

Rob's face wore a look of wonder tinged with horror as the last reaches of the lights shone on a cell in the back corner of the long room.

"We can keep him here," Will suggested. "And Richard will forget about him in time. That's what one does when all the time in the world lies before him. You forget and you move on."

"Is that what he did to you?" asked Rob. All his life, he had wanted to be up on that stage, opposite Richard Armitage. He had finally landed himself the opportunity of a lifetime when he had been selected as understudy, until O'Gorman had come along and made Richard look in no other direction than his short self. Still, he wasn't sure whether to anticipate Dean coming here or to be appalled. It was Richard he had been after, Richard whom he'd never get. It was unfair. Would carving Dean up make him feel better?

Definitely.

At least the first few months.

"Can I feed on him?" he asked. "I want to feed on him. I want to make him feel like he made me feel, and he'll never get what he wants, I'll make sure he won't."

"You _can_ ," Jed cautioned, "but it's not especially nourishing, feeding on the blood of another vampire. Still, there is that sexual rush. Is that what you're after then?" he asked Rob.

To Will, Jed had these words, "We have never done any testing on someone who hasn't volunteered, Will. I'm not sure I'm ready to go down that road yet."

"This is a special circumstance," Will countered. "He's my brother."

"All the more reason not to harm him," Jed was desperately trying to understand Will's logic. "We vampires protect our brood. We honor those who created us."

" _I_ am not a vampire. The other one," Will said, referring of course, to Lee," I had to accept. He was around long before I was born. But you can't just go around making new offspring when you hardly spend any quality time with those you've already sired. It's just not right!"

"So you're jealous?" Jed canted his head. "Jealous of someone you have yet to even meet, simply based on the testimony of—forgive me for my bluntness, Rob—someone with pathological anger management issues."

Rob scoffed and moved across the lab to examine the bookshelf in the corner.

"I suppose that's exactly what it is," Will agreed. "Jealousy. I don't ask for much, Jed. You know this. Let us bring him here, and we'll see what comes of it."

Jed knew he was going to regret the decision, but he was outgunned by his lover and their new house guest. "Fine," he sighed. "But you, Will, don't do a single test on him without me being present."

"All right," Will agreed. "All right."

\- - - - - 

When Dean and Richard returned to the hotel, Aidan was in the shower getting ready for the evening's performance.

"Something's changed," Lee surmised, sizing up their faces. "What is it?"

Richard stood on the other side of the room. He gestured Lee to follow him for a private conversation on the balcony. "I called him like you asked. Dean overheard the conversation."

"You didn't get back to me."

"I didn't. I didn't want to worry him. Dean needs to learn and he needs to learn fast. Rob said he's going to Australia soon. That would be good news. He sounded sincere. But if he's lying, Lee, if he's lying, then we will never see it coming."

"See _what_ coming, exactly?" Lee, normally unflappable, gripped the iron railing tightly with both hands. "You sent him to Will because Will gets things done. He's done this many times—get rid of problems. Why should this time be any different?" 

"Because of Dean. I hope I'm not right, Lee. Rob sounded good, but too good. And Dean is a wildcard. I wish I'd seen it sooner." He looked over his shoulder. Dean had to at least suspect them of talking about him. They talked too quietly for him to hear, which was another hint. "He picks up things effortlessly. In a few months I'm sure he can protect himself and Aidan from just about anything. I've got my hopes up for him."

"Rob's emotions were all over the map when he was at your house, remember? Crazed, then contrite. Scared, then reckless. _He's_ the wild card. Not Dean," Lee posited. "Dean's sensible at least, and driven by his love and loyalty. Who knows what the hell is driving Rob? But if Will starts to see Rob as a prodigy as opposed to a problem..."

He took a long, slow breath in and out. "Whatever happens, Dean has us," Lee assured him, laying a hand on Richard's upper arm. 

Aidan emerged from the shower, already dressed in his jeans. Beads of water still remained on his chest and his hair was toweled dry. 

"Hey," Dean greeted him from his spot on the bed. "You certainly are a welcome sight."

Aidan stared, strode towards him and pulled him in a bone-crushing hug. He inhaled deeply. "You're here already. I expected you to be gone for days. How are you? What happened? You were—I called in sick for tonight. Sorry. I hated calling them, but you weren't here and they already suspected me of falling ill, and I just couldn't do it tonight. But I thought you'd be back tomorrow or something. Lee said Richard took you a few hours away from here. Are you alright?" He kissed his temple, then his mouth.

"There's no way I would have let Richard keep me away that long, Aidan," Dean assured him. "You can't let this disrupt your life. Just because my life has hit this...bump in the road. You have to keep going about your routine. I don't want you to lose your job," he lamented. 

"He's right," Lee echoed, entering the room. "Business as usual, Aidan. You may take this one night off, if you really feel you should, but you have to establish a routine. You can't let this become your life. It's just one facet—a facet easily worked with."

Aidan looked at him like he didn't understand at all. "You make it sound like I _want_ a night off the stage. I worked so hard to get there." He reached for Dean's hand to hold him close a second longer. "Your road is my road. I mean, not all the way, of course. You'll still have your things and I still have mine. But they're pretty damn close enough to notice a bump in the road that's as large as Rob."

Droplets from wet hair pressed against Dean's cheek. Aidan shifted uncomfortably. "Whatever he wants from you, he won't get it, you know. He won't."

"He won't," said Lee. "He won't get past me. You're going to have to trust me some day, Aidan."

"You're not invincible."

"He's human."

Dean could tell Aidan was struggling. Dean, who had taken some time to warm up to Lee after loathing him initially, knew Aidan hadn't yet reached the point of truly trusting the man. "I feel like I've dragged you onto a ride you don't need to be on," he told him, turning his face to Aidan's and kissing him softly for reassurance. "It hadn't been fair to you—any of this. I couldn't blame you for wanting out."

"Wanting—fuck no, I don't want to get out! And what's to stop him from coming after me anyway? We're in this together, for better or for worse." Aidan pulled away and let himself fall into a chair. He closed his eyes, frowned. "If we're going to be in here all night, all four of us, can someone change the subject to an actually nice one? Or food, or a movie, or whatever, as long as it's not about that asshole."

Lee chuckled. "There's no reason for us to stay inside all the time, Aidan. It'll only make us stir crazy. I, personally, would like to take you two shopping...get you some decent clothing. I picture you in a heather gray pea coat. What say we go to Harrods? Money's no object."

Dean looked at Lee as if he'd gone mad. But then he came to realize that Lee was right. Holing up just made them look afraid. And he didn't want Aidan to be afraid. He wanted Aidan to understand the perks that came with his new lifestyle. Having money was obviously one of them.

"I'd like that," he found himself agreeing. "And we definitely need to get him some new socks. He wears the same four pairs over and over."

"Piss off." But Aidan was chewing his thumb, his lips curving up into a repressed smile. "Harrods? Seriously? What, like hiding in plain sight? That's the craziest idea I've heard all day. If I can go to Harrods though, I can perform. That wouldn't be fair." He looked at Richard. "You want to go shopping? I'm cool if they go and we stay here for a walk or something." If that wasn't too much to ask. He never knew with Richard.

"You'd want that, Aidan?" Richard raised his eyebrows, "to be alone with me?"

"Don't make it sound debased," Aidan shrugged in reply.

"I just meant..."

"I think it would be good for you two to spend some time together," Dean told Aidan, before the two men could start a row. 

"Perhaps he _wants_ to be debased," Lee interjected.

"Perhaps it's time I get you out of my sight for a few hours," Aidan sharply ended the conversation before it could escalate. He offered Dean a sorry look. "Go. It'll be good for you."

As he watched them go, he leaned back and at last let his eyes close again. "So. What do you guys usually do for fun?"

"Me and Lee?" Richard pulled shut the curtains that led to the balcony against the chill. "We know one another like a book that's been read a thousand times. There is little new and exciting about our time together—except in recent weeks, that is. Instead, it's that surety that keeps us close. I trust him. He trusts me. He is a good man, Aidan. I hope in time you come to see it."

Richard went to the thermostat on the wall and turned the heat up a bit. "It was kind of you to allow them time together. Lee's very happy with me, having made a brother for him after all these years. He's like a boy with a puppy."

"Was he expecting you to make him a brother?" Richard had no suggestions to pass the time then. Aidan absently rolled a pen between his fingers. "I see it, the way he gets protective around him. I think I trust him with Dean. He just keeps making passes at me and they're really inappropriate."

"They're inappropriate because you find him repulsive," Richard smiled gently. "If it were someone you found attractive—someone you admired—behaving the same way, you'd be flattered. Am I wrong?" When Aidan didn't respond, he figured he had his answer.

"What would you like to do, Aidan?" he wondered. "I can order us some dinner—steak, shrimp—whatever strikes your fancy."

"Can we go for a walk? Just within the hotel is fine, if you think outside is a bad idea. I really need to stretch my legs."

That, and the hotel was too impersonal. In their flat, Aidan loved to sit in the battered sofa sideways, or lie flat on the couch. He loved to switch on the TV at night just to watch the sports channel—and even when he wasn't watching, he liked the sound of an audience, especially when Dean wasn't home. It filled up the space a bit more.

"You know," Aidan thought and felt that he had to get it off his chest, "Lee isn't unattractive or anything. That's not what I think of him. It's just that he's been telling me things like that before I even knew him, and it's all he does. It's different from Dean and you. I assume that's what you were referring to."

Richard opened the door and nodded, ushering Aidan out into the hallway. "You know," he said, "despite Lee's bravado, and his often inappropriate comments, he's a very lonely man. He longs for the love of someone special, yet he covers up his sadness with a standoffish nature. When he finds the right man, he will be a passionate, tender partner to him. I know this."

"As long as there's no kids. Has he never found anyone? I mean, aside from you, but you two are...special, anyway." With his hands in his pockets, Aidan waited for the elevator. "It's difficult to believe that about someone so straightforward."

Richard looked back at him in the mirror, and for a moment Aidan mused about what irony that was, being able to see him in a reflection.

"You've obviously seen a lot of vampire movies." It was more a statement than an inquiry on Richard's part. "Such hyperbole, those. We fit in so much better than those poor creatures in fiction. You'll see."

They walked out into the lobby, where the last of the evening sun was shining through, casting golden squares across the parquet flooring. "Lee as a father," the idea made Richard smile. "While not impossible, it's terribly hard to imagine. He's never been very fond of children. They’ve always made him a bit uncomfortable I feel certain that when he really does meet the man who will hold his heart, it will be as if the earth has moved. He's a much deeper person than you can imagine, Aidan. He was a bit of a philosopher when I met him. That hasn't changed."

Aidan smiled to himself as they descended the steps and entered the night as bathing in its orange glow. You couldn't tell the real color of anything; it made it a different world, a different layer over the daytime city altogether. And Lee being genuinely head over heels for someone, well, it fit right in. "He should stop telling people he wants them sexually until maybe the third time he sees them. That's actually probably the best advice for him." His fingers tripped around his cigarette sleeve. "I have a friend who has the exact opposite problem. He really loves this man, but that man is married, despite obviously wanting him back. He has broken it off with his wife, in fact. But my friend, he still feels like it's not official, like they can't be seen together."

"If there's one thing I've learned in all my years on this earth," Richard stopped him with one gentle hand so that Aidan heard his words, "is that there is nothing more important than honesty. If you love someone, tell them. If you're sorry for something, apologize. If you want something, ask for it. Nothing positive can come of waiting and wanting—except heartbreak and longing. And those are unbearable, even for those with but one brief lifetime to live."

He turned his face to the setting sun. "Twilight in London in the late fall," he breathed in the scent of roasting chestnuts and fallen leaves. "It's always been my favorite time of year."

"...So what happened today?" Aidan couldn't help but ask. "I got up and Lee had to explain to me you were going to train Dean. I hated being up there in that room, having nothing to do but wait until you two were done. I admit, it was faster than I assumed it would be." They passed a small street market that, despite its appeal, didn't draw them in. Aidan hadn't thought there were nighttime farm markets in London. "Is there something I can do? By the look on your face, this isn't over yet."

"I took Dean out to Hersham," Richard told him, "to the little church where my wife, Evelyn, is buried. We sat and talked for a bit. There are things he needed to know about our lifestyle—skills he needs to be aware of. And there are more that will come in time. The skills are like muscles. He'll have to flex them in order for them to grow. Right now, he's very much a fledgling. Far more human than vampire."

Richard paused in front of a street vendor selling hot roasted chestnuts and bought a bag. "These fellows," he told Aidan, offering him the first opportunity to eat, "their family has been roasting chestnuts on the streets of London since the 1700s. These little things—call them anchors, or rituals, if you will—they are what keeps me from going mad. Knowing that some things, despite technology, will never change." He pulled out a chestnut with long, slim fingers and ate it, chewing thoughtfully.

"I believe I made a mistake sending Rob to be with my son, Will," Richard told Aidan. "I could hear in both their voices that something was not right. Instead of sending him away, Will seems to have bonded with Rob. I fear what might come of that union."

Aidan held up his hand when Richard offered him a roasted chestnut, indicating, maybe later. He took a deep draft from his cig. So Richard had had a wife. Had kids. "What's he like?" he asked. "Sorry if I shouldn't be asking you this, but does he have any weaknesses? If they're in this together..."

"Will has always been a very sharp individual, since the moment his personality began to emerge," Richard's face softened. Obviously he was picturing Will as a young boy. "He was driven to distraction as a teen and young adult—seeking out dangerous activities, as young men are wont to do. He was always far more restless than his brother and sister. Finally, he went to school and became a psychiatrist. I thought he'd found his saving grace—a calling that would help ground him. But the restlessness recurred. He counseled some patients poorly and they acted out. He lost his license."

Richard frowned then. "I tried to help him. I did. But he never quite wanted to trust my guidance. As years passed, we grew a bit closer, even as he began to appear older than me, physically. He met a man, a vampire. I think they are in love. They help troubled youth and other vampires from time to time—rather like a halfway house. They've always been good at procuring paperwork and passports without raising too many questions. I think Jed may know someone in the government—or he compels them. Who knows? At any rate, I expected they'd simply do for Rob what they had done for so many...get him out of the country. But they haven't." Richard shoved the half-eaten bag of chestnuts into his coat pocket, and looked Aidan in the eye. "I should have killed him that night, in the car. I should have never allowed him to live after what he did to Dean."

"Dean wouldn't have forgiven you. He's one of the kindest people you'll meet. They don't make people like him anymore. You couldn't have known. So, this Jed, why hasn't he turned him? I mean, I can understand why not, but your son sounds like he wants power over others, and that would give it to him."

"I suspect that Jed feels Will may be dangerous enough, simply as a human being," Richard admitted. "To turn him would also make him too much like me—and that is something Will does not want."

"He wouldn't?" Finishing his last breath, Aidan discarded the cigarette butt and smothered the pinprick heat under his sole. "Can't we go there? They won't expect it, right?"

"To Will's home?" Richard bit his lip. "Oh, but you have the heart of a lion, Aidan. I don't know where Will lives. Nor does he know my address. We keep it that way for a reason. It gives us plausible deniability should things go awry. We always arrange a meeting place."

"So if we found out, he would never expect it." Hope blossomed in Aidan, a chance to get out without waiting for it to happen.

"I'm curious, Aidan," Richard began cautiously, "just what you and I would do once we got to Will's home. Do you just expect we'd barge in and kill Rob?"

Aidan walked slower. He frowned. "No." His hand idly toyed with his lighter in his pocket, as he considered that. "I think I wouldn't be able to kill him. But I think I could lock him up and give him to Lee. I wouldn't mind that."

"And if Rob, and Will and his partner Jed wanted to fight us, to kill us, what then?" Richard popped another chestnut into his mouth and ate it. "I'm not going to lie to you, Aidan, I'm concerned that Rob has made friends with my son. I'm concerned that he may ask Jed to turn him. Do you understand what I'm saying? Human Rob, that we can deal with. Vampire Rob however, that would be more of a challenge. Especially if he has friends."

Aidan finally stopped, putting them under the cover of a lonely ginkgo tree. "Defending myself is different from killing him with full intent," he reasoned, but he didn't look too confident. "Are you saying they could turn him? I—I don't know, if he'd be a vampire...well, Dean still has to gather his strength. So if we'd get him in that state. God, Richard, I don't want to consider that. Haven't you got others you can rally? Ways? Laws?"

"This isn't _Twilight_ Aidan," Richard smiled gently. "Our numbers are slim. I can honestly say I know only a handful of men and women like me. Most are not here in London, but in other countries. As far as laws, we have few. We don't turn children into vampires. And we honor our brothers and sisters, and especially those who made us—for as long as he, or she, lives."

"So, Jed. Is he manageable?" A hand ran through his hair. "Christ, listen to this. We're actually discussing taking a man out. _I'm_ actually discussing taking a man out. Can't we just hang out in a different city for a while, until this blows over? We don't even know if Rob really is after us. I mean, he was there and he didn't look happy, but, you know, he didn't attack or anything. He went back to Will the next day."

"What's more vital here is, I can't believe you'd consider walking away from what you've attained, Aidan. Your lifelong dream of starring in a play, just now realized. You don't walk away from that," Richard insisted. "You fight for it. And you let _us_ fight for Dean. It would be far, far too easy for one of them to use you as a pawn."


	20. Richard Isn't Here to Die for You Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jed turns Rob. Will gives Rob the elixir. The shitstorm arrives.

"Come. Sit." Richard pulled Aidan towards an empty table in the corner of an outdoor café. A patio heating lamp warmed them as they got into its proximity. "Two hot chocolates with Kahlua and peppermint schnapps, please," he asked of the waiter who came to them immediately. "Now, Jed," he began, fiddling idly with his spoon, "he's always had a level head, at least in my experience. But if he turns Rob...well, then Rob is his, as Dean is mine. It would take something extraordinary and horrible for Rob to turn on him."

Aidan bit his nail. He was hyper-aware of his surroundings. There could be something anywhere. Any movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention. It took him a few minutes to convince himself that he was truly safe here, in Richard's company. Nobody was watching them. "I love my job a lot, but I love my life more. I'm sorry, other people would say the opposite, but I can't lose him, I can't lose Dean just because I couldn't stay off the stage for a few days. So fine, give me the bits I'd rather not want to hear. In what ways can Rob harm either me or him? Do you want me to wear GPS to be safe? I mean, you're probably going to convince me to get back to the stage tomorrow anyway."

"I'm also not going to discourage Dean from getting back onstage," Richard told him. "The worst possible thing either of you can do is appear afraid. But you should _be_ concerned. Rob, as a human, could have killed Dean. He came so close, Aidan. So close that I didn't dare take him to the hospital, because I think he would have died there. But an angry Rob—especially a vampire—his violence would know no bounds. Against Dean, against you, against any random person on the street."

He smiled as the waiter returned with their drinks. "Fortification," Richard said dryly, pushing Aidan's gently in his direction. "And they are goddamn delicious."

The mug was still too hot, but comfortable as soon as Aidan pulled his sleeves lower. "So you're saying that if he wants to, there's not a man stopping him, unless we find him first?" Aidan groaned. "I think I'd really like that change of subject now. Tell me about your acting. Something. I don't know, you lived a couple of centuries, I'm sure you've lived past a few interesting things."

Richard felt that they should still be addressing the Rob issue, but he didn't want to frighten Aidan any further. "It's true," he said with a smile, sitting forward in his chair. "I've been on plenty of stages—here in England, of course. But also in South Africa, New Zealand, the far east and India. I even starred in a Wild West show in America for a bit. That was a lot of fun. I got to ride a horse and shoot at moving targets. All I can say is, it's a good thing I'd had over a century to learn to shoot beforehand."

"Real shooting?" Aidan sat forward with interest. "Are you serious? I've never shot a gun. Being a stage actor with a resume of mainly small unimportant roles does that, I suppose. They never asked me to ride horse either. Thank god for that. They creep me out a fair bit. Especially the stallions. So you've really been all over the world. There's a lot of difference in plays, isn't there?"

"Things were so different back then." Richard only had to close his eyes to recall the smell of the open plains, the feeling of dust perpetually on his skin and clothing. _Lee._ "There were little to no safety standards. We were unstoppable. And yes, while there might be different styles around the world, the goal of every troupe of actors is the same, isn't it? Bring a believable, quality product to the audience. Wrap it up and present it as a gift to be proud of. I can tell that you understand. I see it in your work. But the truth is, you'd have fit in perfectly at that Wild West show in 1885, or on a Kabuki stage, because of your skills."

With every word he spoke, Richard tried to put Aidan at ease. He only hoped it would help quiet the fluttering in his own chest.

\- - - - - 

"Ah, god..." Rob groaned in pain, eyes rolling back in his head. "It _burns_ , Will! It hurts so much! You didn't say it would hurt this much." His face bore a thick sheen of sweat.

Jed held tightly to Rob's hand. Rob, his first sire. Probably his only. The pain he was feeling in his chest was unfathomable. It was the pain of watching a child suffer. Will hadn't told him how much _this_ was going to hurt, either.

"It passes, Rob," Jed told him gently. "They all say so. It won't be long now." He rubbed soothing fingers through damp blond hair. "Just keep breathing. I won't leave you."

"He's doing very well," Will told Jed, making a few notes. "He'd feel a heck of a lot better if he'd allow himself to pass out."

"Can't you give him something?" Jed begged.

"It wouldn't mix well with the elixir," Will countered. "Try to sleep if you can, Rob. When you wake up, you'll feel ever so much better."

Rob's face was as pale as milk. "You lied to me," he whimpered, turning his face into Jed's warm hand. "You lied, Will."

\- - - - 

When Lee and Dean returned, it was well into the night. Aidan had lain down and somehow fallen asleep—which he would later blame Richard for, because the man had kept talking to him with a soothing voice and mentioned more than once that he looked tired and should go to sleep. They came back to the hotel room with a change of clothes for each of them. The rest of the haul had been dropped off at Lee’s apartment. Lee mentioned that he'd be going again, see if he could get some information out of his contacts.

"Oh, and the theater will be opening again in two days," Lee informed Richard. “Jackson had men working around the clock.” That left two days until for all four of them, real life would again catch up.

Lee departed and left Dean with a weary Richard sipping his coffee. The caffeine wouldn't stay in his body long enough to do any good, but he had always woken up from the bitter smell.

"You should get some sleep too," Richard said half-heartedly. "Maybe we can practice some scenes tomorrow." He already knew that in front of Aidan, that wouldn't be a nice thing to do, but, "It'll be a nice distraction. Technically you shouldn't be feeling asleep yet, with how you are, but when you do get tired, it'll catch up with you very fast."

"I _feel_ tired though," Dean confessed. "Overwhelmed, I guess, with all of this. It was nice with Lee, tonight. We had a good time. He made me forget about all of this. He made me believe that I was going to be okay." He set down his mug quietly. "I really needed that, Richard."

"In a few days," said Richard around the rim of his cup of coffee, "we're back on that stage and Aidan's biggest concern will be the scenes we have between us. You can't tell me Lee only dragged you to Harrods. You were gone for half a night?"

"We did stop by his apartment—we had to drop off his purchases," Dean smiled. "I knew he was well dressed, but I never realized just how many articles of clothing he owns. One of his bedrooms is literally a closet. He had plenty of fashion advice for me too. And he thinks Aidan should be a model," Dean chuckled, glad to be talking about _anything_ that didn't involve being a vampire.

"To be honest," Dean sighed, "I haven't given the show much thought lately. All that worry about you and me making out on stage—it hardly seems like a big deal at all now."

"I still promised you to properly show compelling someone, I recall," smiled Richard in reply, eager just the same for the topic not to stray to the obvious threat at their door. "Well, when there's time for that. Aidan _could_ be a model. Has nobody asked him to? That hardly seems possible." He nudged over at the door. "He bought you blue, didn't he? I think I mentioned to him once that it looks good on you."

"Lots of blue," Dean nodded. "Grey blue, and cobalt blue, and something called Williamsburg Blue. I didn't realize so many shades of blue even exist. It's hard to imagine Aidan as a model. I'm not sure he could be disciplined enough. You know...eating healthily all the time. I rather like the small bit of soft padding he keeps 'round his waist, if I'm honest."

Dean smiled fondly, and Richard could tell that Dean was wishing he were touching that padding right then. "Were you serious," Dean asked him, "about wanting to go to bed with me and Aidan at the same time?"

Richard looked at Aidan, who had no idea of the conversation happening between them, and who would most likely never find out. He was blissfully unaware of everything, lost in his dreams. He looked peaceful. "Did you think I wasn't?"

Dean didn't know how to respond to that. What he really wanted to express was an inexplicably stupid jealousy over Richard not wanting to go to bed with just _him._ But it was stupid and petty, so he just held his tongue and smiled.

"When did my life get so crazy?" he wondered aloud, when the silence became palpable.

"Sorry."

Richard looked between Dean and Aidan. Dean seemed to be troubled by the idea still. Richard hadn't expected anything different, honestly. Dean would most likely never truly succumb to Richard while Aidan lived, and he couldn't blame him for it. Aidan was just as much a rare catch as Dean was. 

"To think that all of this came from one audition. It's strange, isn't it?" Dean reached for his hand. "Please, don't be sorry, Richard. If you had told me, just a few months ago, that I'd be sitting here in hotel with you drinking coffee and talking about having sex, I would have laughed. And now here we are, and the situation is a hundred times more fantastic than that. I can't help but think of the future—all the time I have ahead of me, and what I want to do with it. Is that selfish?"

"You can do whatever you want with it. That's not selfish." Their fingers spun around each other in a tantalizing dance, one that Richard both instigated and couldn't keep his eyes away from. "I am considering Argentina in a few years. They'll start to notice my age eventually. Time to make a change. That's also selfish. But it's the only thing we can do with the gift of life. We appreciate it."

"They say it's beautiful in Argentina. Like Switzerland, but with more Spaniards and less chocolate." Dean shivered at the electrical charge that was traveling through him at their contact. "I'll miss you, you know. If you leave. I've become very attached to you."

Richard licked his lips. He wasn't trying to convey anything, yet he probably was. "You can always come over. Travel these days is faster than I ever thought would be possible. It'll get faster still. Soon Argentina will be three hours away from you. Lee thinks about sticking around a few more years. He says maybe he'll pick up the trade again. He is probably only saying that so it might one day put him opposite your boyfriend onstage, but no matter. It is better than other paths for him."

"Lee told me he used to be involved in less-than-legal activities," Dean smiled. "It's not that hard to imagine, really, him being a cyber criminal or something like that. I think I'd like to get a really nice camera and learn to take pictures."

By the looks of it, Dean remained unfazed, and so Richard withdrew his hand. He chuckled to himself, remembering the night after the first performance. It was a lifetime ago. "You do that. See the world when you're ready, enjoy it for what it is. First though," and he gestured towards Aidan, "enjoy what you have now. Go on. I'll stay up awhile."

It was then that Richard perked up. His eyes widened. He stood up, gestured Dean to stay where he was, and walked towards the door. It wouldn't be anything, he told himself. Still...

When Richard opened the door, just prior to the concierge's knock, the poor man in the doorway stood taken aback. "Er, there's a gentleman downstairs looking for you, Mr. Armitage," he announced as soon as he regained his composure. "Says his name's Jed Brophy, and that he desperately needs to speak with you. He tried to get me to give you this room number, but I wanted to clear it with you first. Should I send him up?"

Richard looked once at Dean. "Lock up behind me. Do not open this door to anyone. Call Lee."

He closed the door before Dean could respond, removing himself from the scene before the concierge could start recognizing someone, or would realize that while Richard's lips had moved, no sound had come out; and yet this man behind him understood.

To the concierge he said, "When he asks where you found me, you will tell him I was alone." There was no way around a compulsion of this magnitude for the poor man. "Now take me to him."

He was taken to the lobby, where the familiar figure of Jed sat waiting. Richard's jaw tensed. He inclined his head. "Jed."

"Hello, Richard." Jed rose and extended his hand for Richard to shake. He looked grim. "Will you join me in the bar? We need to talk. It's about your son."

They walked in silence to the bar. The few people that were there soon found reasons to leave—be that something they had forgotten, or a sudden drowsiness that suggested they had perhaps go to bed early for once. Richard sat down in a leather sofa in the corner, one of the few good seats of the bar. He gestured Jed to take the one opposite him. "Will," he sighed, "he's up to something with Rob, isn't he?"

"First off, I owe you an apology, Richard," Jed said softly. "I like Rob. He was sent to us to dispose of. I know this. But when Will asked me to turn him, it seemed only natural to take that road instead. He reminds me so much of myself—before all of this." He waved the bartender over from behind the bar and asked him to bring a bottle of whisky and two shot glasses. The man didn't hesitate.

It was only after he had downed two shots that Jed continued. "And so I turned him. I'd never done it before. I swore I wouldn't. It's inexcusable, I know. Rob, he seemed to want so desperately to make something of himself. But now, Will injected him with something yesterday. He was sick most of the day, but tonight ..."

Dread gripped Richard's heart. It was as he had feared—Rob was a vampire with a vengeance to settle, though under what justification, Richard didn't know. There would be no going back on stage before he had been dealt with. Rob had been dangerous when he was only human. This was much, much worse.

"Where is he now?" He needed to know. "What did Will do to him? So what they told me was right, when they mentioned having seen him. God, I can't blame you, Jed. You're here now, you're telling me this now. It just, God, it changes _everything_." The glass of whiskey downed made no difference to the severity of the situation. "Are we safe?"

"Rob knows you're here, in this building," Jed told him. "He followed Lee here last night. Will sprayed him with some sort of scent-masking formula he'd been working on. I guess it worked." Jed downed another shot. "As for Will...he's gone mad, Richard. I know you don't want to hear it, but I fear it's true. He's developed an elixir that overclocks vampire abilities—speed, strength, tracking. And it amplifies anger."

He crossed his legs distractedly. "Rob's suffering right now. I can't bear to watch. I had to get out. You remember how it was with Will, when he got in trouble and lost his license? Well, he's encouraging Rob to do whatever he wants. I fear that when Rob is well enough, that's exactly what he'll do. I won't be able to stop him. But I also cannot bring myself to hurt him. You understand why."

At once Richard thought about heading back up to the room and extracting Dean and Aidan. They were no longer safe. Lee would come, if Dean had followed his instructions, but if even Lee was no match for this new _creature_ , then his best shot was finding out what was going on. His heart beat in his throat, and it had been a long while since he had had sweaty palms. "Does it wear off?" he asked. "Where is he now? Could I, you know, _now_ , before he collects himself? Jed, Will has to be stopped. This is madness. He is risking the lives of people who have nothing to do with this, and for what purpose?"

He knew for what purpose though. Richard looked at the ceiling. Somewhere there were two men whose safety he was responsible for. To know that there was close to nothing he could do was an alien feeling, and a frightening one. He hadn't felt like that in centuries.

\- - - - - 

After Richard departed, Dean got up quickly and bolted the door behind him. He called Lee, but got his voicemail, where he begged Lee to come back to the hotel immediately. He wanted to wake Aidan, tell him to hide, but the fear was still unfounded.

Instead he moved to his overnight bag. The visit to Lee's apartment had yielded up some surprises. Lee had given him a pair of guns. 

"Guns kill vampires as easily as humans," Lee had told him, "if you know how to hit the vital organs. Brains and heart," he chuckled, "just like the Wizard of Oz. But shooting also takes courage. Do you have that courage, Dean?"

Dean clutched the guns in his hands and looked to Aidan, blissfully asleep. Yes, he did.

Nevertheless the minutes ticked by like they were hours, and every small sound was intensified under the scrutiny of his new awareness. A man walking in his room three rooms away from him already made Dean feel like someone was right outside the door.

When the knock came, it nearly roused Aidan—and scared the shit out of Dean.

"It's Richard," came a whisper. "Don't let me in. Listen to me. I will be outside until Lee gets here. If Rob makes it to this room, it'll be too late for us to do anything about it. I will intercept him outside, if he makes it to the perimeter."

Dean sat down gently next to Aidan, not willing to wake him. He had put Aidan through so much over the past week. It wasn't fair to carry such a large burden. He leaned over the dark-haired man, taking in a long inhalation of the smell of his slumbering mate, the scent he'd long come to associate with comfort and home.

Without warning, the new cell phone Lee had purchased him only hours before vibrated inside his pocket.

"Lee?" he whispered into the receiver. 

"Dean. Yes, it's me." Lee sounded strange. "I got Will's address off one of my associates. No one's home at their house. I checked. I'm here now, in fact. They have got some sort of laboratory in their basement, and it looks like someone's been injected with something recently. They're all gone. Please, be careful. If I can find them, they can find you. I’m on my way to you now." 

He ended the call as abruptly as it began.

Dean closed his eyes and drew in what he hoped would be a calming breath. When he opened his eyes, Aidan was looking up at him.

"You look scared," murmured Aidan. It was why Aidan looked scared, himself. Dean was holding a gun, which was an uncomfortable sight. "Where'd you get that? Dean..."

Dean's hand was cold when he squeezed Aidan's. "I _am_ scared," he whispered. "I want you to take this." He handed Aidan the larger of the two handguns. "It's easy to use. That's the safety. He tapped a small switch. "Flick it up and you're ready to fire. Just point and shoot. Don't hesitate."

Dean felt as if his heart were going to leap out of his chest, and the look on Aidan's face broke his heart. "I love you," he told him. "And I'm so, so sorry, Aidan. I will spend the rest of our lives making this up to you."

He was leaning over to kiss Aidan when he heard a scrabbling sound coming from the balcony. They were five stories up, and it was a windy night. Surely it was nothing. 

The sliding glass door burst open with a crash as one of the chairs from outside was hurled through.

Aidan's instinct clutched his finger around the trigger and aimed. Richard would never do that, nor would Lee. He processed his action in the blink of an eye, yet he did not shoot when Rob came walking in. The man breathed heavily, his frame hunched like he was on a mission to kill. He probably was.

"Dean," the man grinned. "Finally. Look at me, Dean! Finally we're equals. Wait, no, that's not quite right. You will never be my equal again. Not that you'll be able to agonize about that for long. Richard isn't here to die for you tonight, is he?"

"Get the fuck out!" Aidan called before Dean had the chance to. He forced himself between them, aiming the gun for Rob's head. "Don't bloody think you're entitled to kill him. Not after what you did to him, asshole! Get out!"

"Oh, lovely," Rob's tone softened as his eyes, ringed with red, met Aidan's. "You smell so delicious. What a treat you'll be for me after I finish off your boyfriend." With inhuman speed, Rob's feigned to the right. Dean fired, but because of Rob's extraordinary speed, the bullet grazed his shoulder. 

"I'm faster than you now," Rob told him, "stronger too. Jed and Will saw to that. Jed made me...and Will improved me. Even as a vampire, I'm your better in every way, Dean."

He ducked deftly around Aidan, who still held his gun up protectively, and dove for Dean. Before Dean could react, Rob grabbed his right forearm, closing his giant fist around it. Dean's ulna and radius gave easily away under the pressure, and the sound of them breaking, one immediately following the other, echoed in the room.

Dean grunted in pain, losing his grip on his gun. It spun away under the table. The pain opened something carnal inside him, and he growled, hissing as Rob grabbed him and held him in front of him like a shield.

"Get Richard, Aidan!" Dean managed to gasp, as Rob grabbed a handful of his hair, wresting his head to the side. 

"Just a little taste," Rob cooed, "before you die."

Aidan didn't know where Richard was. He had woken up when he was no longer in the room—but even if he knew, he couldn't move from his spot now. Trembling fingers clung to the gun Dean had given him. "Don't kill him," he whispered, "don't kill him, Rob. Don't kill him." It became a desperate mantra that ended at last with the words, "Spare him. Take me."

He couldn't do anything but let out a shrill, faint cry when Rob bit down on Dean's neck. It was messy, so very messy. Rob might have been turned into an alpha predator over a span of a short time, that didn't mean he had fangs or the skill to use his very human teeth wisely. Force was what split the skin, not the sharpness of his teeth. Aidan looked on helplessly. He didn't know what to do. The only thing he knew was that he couldn't abandon Dean here.

Raising his house key to his wrist, he bit his lip and pulled the serrated edge against his skin until it drew blood. Human blood. Maybe, if Aidan's blood smelled that good, it would be able to draw Rob off for long enough to give Lee or Richard enough time.

"I'll get to you in due time," Rob pulled his bloodstained mouth away from Dean's skin long enough to hiss before latching back on with more tenacity than before.

When Rob's teeth—no sharper, really than regular human teeth—tore through the flesh where Dean's neck met his shoulder, it hurt worse than the knife had. The knife at least had had a clean edge. Rob's mouth was hot and his movements urgent. When Dean tried to squirm away, Rob tightened his grip and Dean felt two of his ribs crack. _He shouldn't be this strong,_ Dean lamented, as Rob began sucking hungrily at the wound he'd created. 

"Aidan..." he managed to whimper, "Shoot him..."

A bullet tore straight through Rob's left cheek and left a bloody hole upon its exit.

Aidan stared wide-eyed at the gun in his hand. He stumbled back, shaking his head. He had never shot a man for real, he hadn't thought he ever would, and there was something so different between acting it out and actually doing it. "I—I'm sorry," he breathed. Not to Rob. Rob had had it coming. Aidan didn't really know to whom he was apologizing, just that he was. But Rob had looked like an animal and Dean like his helpless prey, and he couldn't...couldn't...

Though Rob looked incredulous more than in real pain, the hand that suddenly tore Rob viciously off of Dean and cast him to the ground had needed only that distraction. Lee towered over him. He straddled Rob, pushing him further into the cheap carpet as he throttled the man, crushing his windpipe.

Aidan's eyes snapped to the window, before falling on Dean. "Fuck," he hissed. Life returned to his mind and his limbs, and he edged back to the bathroom to fetch a towel and stop the bleeding.

Dean's uninjured hand trembled as he lifted it to place over Aidan's as Aidan pressed the folded towel over his torn flesh.

"'m all right," Dean insisted weakly, wincing at the pain the pressure created. "I'll heal."

Lee's face was contorted in anger as his fingers dug into Rob's throat. Aidan could see at least two places where they had pushed their way through the skin. " _Never,_ " Lee menaced, "never will you touch him again." When Rob was dazed enough, Lee reached to his right and picked up Aidan's discarded firearm. He lay it against Rob's chest directly over his heart. "I won't make the same mistake twice," he said, and fired. 

Richard walked in on that exact scene. Lee was covered in spatters of blood, Dean’s right side was awash with crimson, and Aidan looked close to shellshocked, pressing a white hotel towel against Dean's neck to stop the bleeding. The neighbors had undoubtedly heard. Soon now, someone from the hotel was going to check while another called the police. It was too late to compel anyone.

Rob gasped for life on the floor. Lee could hardly contain him despite the mess of his chest. He must have just missed the heart in the struggle. Richard closed the door and rushed to them for help.

"Don't let him get away," said he as he shifted his weight to pin Rob's dying frame to the floor. "His maker is in the lobby. Jed, he said Will did something to him. Until his heart stops beating, don't let him get away."

Opposite the room, Aidan drew away the towel. His eyes looked over the frame before him. There was only chaos in his head. He couldn't think straight. He only saw Dean's eyes flick to his wrist once or twice, and suddenly that was what he wanted. He held out his arm.

"I...I shouldn't," Dean whispered. "I just fed on you, Aidan."

"Let him have just a little," Lee wiped blood from his chin with a corner of the bed spread. "He'll heal faster."

Richard knelt over Rob, looking into the sorry wreck of his face. "You could have been so successful in this life," he told Rob mournfully. "If only you weren't so obsessed with what everyone else had."

"Kill me," Rob murmured, eyes fluttering. "It didn’t feel the way I thought it would. I should have never been allowed to live in the first place." Rob's trembling hand reached for Richard's and Richard's head was filled with a vision of a small blond boy, cowering in his bed in the dark, a thin blanket pulled around his shoulders. In another room a man shouted, punctuated by the sound of a fist striking flesh and a woman's scream. _Please, God,_ the little boy whimpered as he rocked, _Please, God. Help me. Take me away, take me to Heaven._

"I'm sorry for all your unhappiness," Richard squeezed Rob's hand as the man lay dying. "No one deserves that. Your mistake was thinking you needed to pass it along to others."

Rob's body shuddered as his life seeped away into the bloodied carpeting. Seconds later, he was gone. Richard reached down and gently closed his eyelids, then stood.

"We need to get out of here," he said simply.

"Call them," commanded Lee from the ground. He got up and headed for the bathroom, making sure he walked no further than the doorpost. He wasn't welcome to interrupt the almost intimate scene before him, and he didn't want to. He just needed them to be safe until the authorities arrived.

As Richard called the hotel manager, who had been a personal friend for a long time and one of theirs, Aidan's eyes fluttered shut under the feeling of Dean's lips against the minor incision. He felt his lover's blood trickle down against his skin. Under normal circumstances, it would have terrified him. Here, locked in this embrace and feeling the rivulet weaken and weaken, the more Dean took from him, all that mattered was making sure that the man he loved lived on. Rob had for a second time mutilated him. He couldn't bear it.

At long last Dean gasped and pulled himself away. If more was taken, Aidan would lose what little strength he had left. He felt lightheaded. Where the first time he had been overtaken by a strong desire, Aidan felt mostly faint now. His gaze shifted to Lee. "Carry me," he whispered, and fell to his knees.

Dean leaned forward from his position by the tub to attempt to stop Aidan's descent, but he only ended up slipping weakly to one side with a frustrated, pained whimper.

Lee moved into the washroom and caught Aidan beneath the knees and shoulders as he fell, effortlessly sweeping him up into his arms. "Let's get you somewhere safe," he said gently. The tang of Aidan's blood was a minor distraction. Thankfully, Lee had fed while he was out.

"Ian's going to send in the cleaning crew," Richard assured Lee as he exited the bathroom carrying Aidan. Richard leaned forward and checked Aidan's pulse and felt his forehead. "He'll be all right. He just needs to rest. I'll get Dean. Meet me at my car?"

Lee gave a curt nod and hurried out the door.

Richard gathered up the scant belongings left in the room into one small suitcase. "There now," he knelt in front of Dean. "The damage isn't so bad at all, is it?"

Dean let out a half scoff, half sob, reaching for him with his uninjured hand. 

"I've got you," Richard assured him, helping Dean to his feet, where he swayed unsteadily. "I've got you."

They made it down the staircase—nobody took the stairs except for those who had rooms on the first or second floors—at a murderously slow speed. "I will need to talk to him," Richard said to himself upon the last flight. When he saw Dean looking at him, he explained, "My son. His partner. Rob's maker. Jed was afraid of something like this, but to lose your sire…. it’s like losing a child. No matter how terrible the person, it will still feel like you've lost part of yourself. I'll talk to him as soon as I can." He chanced a smile. "I think we're safe now. I'm sorry I couldn't make it there earlier. I'm so glad it wasn't you, Dean. It might have broken me."

——-

Jed, after meeting with Richard, had barely made it to his car when he saw Rob scaling up the outside of the building. He climbed five stories of drainpipe and balcony with frightening supernatural ease until he paused only long enough to break down a glass door with a chair.

Jed didn't know what he'd find when he made it up to the room himself. He waited on the balcony for the dust to settle. He wasn't in agreement with Rob about what had to be done. If he went into that room, he'd be complicit. He could die, and he didn't want that. And he couldn't bear the idea of Rob continuing to live as a monster. For that's what Will had turned him into.

He huddled on the freezing cold balcony, a hand clasped over his mouth against his sobs, as he listened to his child gasping out his last dying words. When the occupants of the room left, he carefully slipped in through the shattered glass to find Rob's body. 

There was no time to mourn his progeny. There was only time to gather the limp body into his arms and carry him away down the fire escape to his car.

\- - - - -

Aidan lay curled up on the back seat of Richard’s car. He felt disconnected as he saw a second shadow emerge on the balcony and go in, because he understood who it had to be. The shadow retrieved what it had come for and carried Rob’s body away. When they came within close distance, Aidan lay flat on the back seat. He licked his lips and watched the soft fabric of the car roof above him.

"Is it wrong for me to feel relieved?" he asked Lee when he was sure they had passed. "I just saw a man die. You must have been through that several times, but for me, that's the first time I've seen someone fade. Do you believe there is something more? Or is that really it? You know, you make a few bad choices, and your whole history is erased for it."

He wasn't sorry for it. Aidan simply couldn't grasp it.

“I believe there is justice,” Lee told him, starting the car. “Whether it happens naturally or we create it ourselves.”

The door was pulled open, and he veered to a sitting position too fast. If something was still in his stomach, it would have come up now. He supported himself against one side and smiled faintly at Dean joining him. He was looking better already, whereas he himself, well, not so much. "You okay?"

"He will be," said Richard. "Will you sleep in your own bed tonight?"

"Is it a possibility?"

"I think it might be. If you want to."

The car revved, but didn't drive off yet.

Did he want to? No Lee or Richard. No Rob, the guy who made him or his evil scientist boyfriend? None of that? "Yes, please."

Dean reached for him, interlacing their fingers. "You need bandages," he said softly. "We both do. I'll take care of you when we get home. Lean on me," he encouraged, wincing when Aidan came in contact with his injured ribs. Already the bite marks on his neck looked smaller. "Sleep if you want. We're going home." Dean kissed the top of his head. "I'm so proud of you."

As Aidan closed his eyes, the world shut down for him. He hadn't done anything. He'd just—well, he had pulled the trigger, hadn't he? Aidan opened his eyes again before the image of Rob's cheek being rent could reappear in his vision. Streaks of London's nightly grid skipped past him. "He's dead, right? You made sure?"

"I made sure," said Richard softly from the driver's seat. "Rest, Aidan."

"I shot him."

Lee reached over from the front seat. He brushed a hand against Aidan's cheek, his eyes momentarily asking permission from Dean. When nothing came, his voice became a soothing brush against Aidan's consciousness. "You did the only thing you could do. You were amazing. Sleep now. You need to recover."

In Dean's embrace, Aidan felt his eyelids grow heavy. Something niggled at the edge of his mind that this was what being compelled felt like. He didn't mind it so much tonight. Snuggling into Dean's warmth, he murmured a quiet, "Okay," and sank into a shallow sleep. He missed the affectionate smile Lee gave him, or the drive until a hand nudged him and they had stopped in front of their apartment.

"Would you mind helping me get him inside?" Dean asked the two men in the front seat, but Lee was already getting out and opening the back door. He hefted Aidan like he weighed little more than a toddler.

"Do you need to be carried as well?" Richard wondered, slipping his arm tenderly around Dean's waist.

"No." Dean looked down, flustered. He couldn't imagine a time he wouldn't be flustered around Richard, but he found he rather liked it. "But I don't mind your arm there so much."

"We have _got_ to get you two into some nicer housing," Lee commented as he slipped off Aidan's shoes and took a look around. He didn't like what he saw.

"As soon as we've saved up some from our shows," Dean assured him, pulling their first aid kit from under the bathroom sink. "Maybe we could move into your building."

"I'd like that," Lee confessed, taking the kit from Dean and making short work of the incisions on Aidan's wrist and neck. He barely stirred while Lee was bandaging him. 

"You're very good at that," Dean commented.

"I went to nursing school," Lee shrugged. "I'm a physician as well. A hematologist. Did you know? Having all the time in the world opens up a world of possibilities."

Dean, suddenly very tired, lay down next to Aidan and watched Lee work. His skin and bones ached and itched as they knit back together. But the pain served to remind him that he—all of them—were still alive.

Richard coated the healing bite marks on Dean's neck and shoulder heavily with antibiotic cream. "Just in case," he smiled gently, covering the area with a gauze square. "Do you want us to stay over?"

Dean shook his head. "I think we'll be all right, Richard."

Both men leaned down to kiss him, but he felt neither. He'd already fallen asleep.


	21. I'm Ready To Burn  (A Second Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Lee's story - 1885 to 1984.

**1885**

Crestview, Alabama, was where Lee could no longer continue. He woke up one sunny morning, his lips bloody and his joints painful, and it hurt him to get up on his feet and walk. His weak body could barely make a step, let alone sit in the crowd and volunteer. Walking alone would be more of a challenge than holding up the apple for Richard.

They had traveled for months. Winter was finally around the bend but, around these parts of the world, the word 'winter' meant very little. People had loved Lee and his daredevil challenges to Richard. He had held the apple as recklessly as he could imagine, and yet Richard had never injured him in the ring. The apple in the mouth remained an audience favorite. Lee had become famous enough that after awhile people started to recognize him in the audience and had begun trying to sit close to him. Only a few times did the audience demand that Richard knew Lee and so it wasn't technically volunteering; during those times Richard would select someone else, but the women and the children still asked if Lee could go up there afterwards, and he always did.

They had been wonderful months in which Lee had seen the world. Today, it was to end.

Richard found him in bed when they were getting ready to depart. He noticed at once that something was off and put a hand on Lee's shoulder. Richard had never bothered staying away from Lee just because he had consumption. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"I won't be able to be part of the show today, Richard," Lee told his friend. He rolled onto his side because it made breathing easier. When he smiled, his teeth were tinged with pink. "I feel cheated, because my life is about to end. But I am blessed because I ran into you in Beaumont. These last few months have been a gift. I've had so much fun, seen so much, met so many interesting people. It's the kind of life I would have liked to have been leading all along."

Exhausted with his efforts and short of breath, Lee lay his head on his pillow. "That opium that I keep in my bag...in the leather pouch. I think today's the day I'm going to need it. _All_ of it."

Richard shook his head. "Not all of it. Hold on until we make it to the next town. If only you can do that for me, I'll make it all right, I promise. Half of it," he tried to bargain. Lee had become dear to him. He didn't want to think of saying goodbye. "Half of it, for me."

Richard was the only person Lee had ever met that he'd really, truly loved. He couldn't say no to him. He didn't want to, if only to selfishly have another day with him, and another night chatting as they lay in their bunks. Richard was educated and full of stories. Lee could have listened to him speak for hours. Maybe tonight he'd talk to him until he fell asleep.

"All right, Richard," he agreed, feeling the pull of sleep. "I'll try." But his lungs were wet and churning. "I'll wait up for you."

Against Lee's many protests, Richard leaned forward to kiss his forehead once, and then, when Lee was too weak to fend him off, on his lips. "Thank you," he whispered. "I can't lose you yet."

"You must have a bit of a death wish yourself," Lee told him, shivering, despite the heat of the day. "Thank you...for making me feel needed, Richard. I want to tell you that I think I love you."

"You couldn't kill me like that." Bitter words. "I love you, Lee, there is no denying that I do. Just one more day. You still haven't given up, have you? You need only say it."

"I'm so tired," Lee whispered, squeezing his hand. "It feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest. But I don't want to leave you."

"You wouldn't. I'll be there with you." Lee looked worse than previous days though. His pallor was dreadful, and Richard knew he had only barely held on earlier. It wouldn't be long now. Lee might not make the next morning. His heart clenched. Richard was losing him. "Wait here. Just half an hour. I promise you, I'll be back, but you need to hang in there for me."

He hated leaving, knowing there was nothing that kept Lee from slipping away. The time spent in the wagon of the headmaster felt like too long already. Minutes fell away like grains of sand in an hourglass. Only a few left. Time was ticking.

Richard burst in the door upon his return. "We're staying," he nodded strongly. "I'm staying here for a few days. As long as we need. We will catch up with them after. They understand."

Lee wanted to tell Richard so much, in the eloquent vocabulary he had spent years honing. But his lips were pale blue and his breath hitching. _You've made me feel rejuvenated and alive. You opened up emotions in me that I thought I'd closed the door on long ago. I wish we could do this forever, grow old together, with every day an adventure._

With a whimper he reached for Richard's hand. "I'm so scared," he managed. "I'd made my peace with dying. Then I met you."

"I've never known you when you were still healthy." Richard's hands cradled Lee's cheeks. "You've always been full of life. I won't let you go. I can't let you go. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did." His lips touched Lee's cold ones again. They remained there until they slowly started moving. Richard drew in a breath. Lee was beautiful. He was smart and courageous, he appreciated the small things in life, and he had the warmest smile. Richard would stay up for days for a glimpse of that smile. "If you were given a second chance..."

Lee put a hand up between his lips and Richard's. "You mustn't kiss me." _You'll die too,_ went the implication. "If I had a second chance, I'd become a doctor." He lay his head down as a coughing fit overtook him. When he'd wiped away the blood and caught his breath, he continued. "There's a physician, Joseph Lister, who's doing research on the use of mold to kill bacteria. I think he might be onto something. Maybe something that could cure consumption." Lee's eyes studied Richard's face as he contemplated Lee's response. "Lie with me?" he asked, breath hitching. "Hold me?"

"You're dying, Lee," breathed Richard. After losing so many people that he knew, he could tell when someone was. He hated it. "...I want to try something. It's—I've never done it before, but I know how it's supposed to go. It could offer you days, even weeks. I can't say goodbye to you until I've tried. Would you let me try?"

Lee's eyes opened a bit wider, latching onto the hopeful tone in the Richard's voice. "Yes," was all he could gasp out. Lee's lips were tingling from lack of oxygen. He wished he hadn't talked so much before. He wished he'd used all the morphine instead of stupidly letting it sit there. 

But Richard was glad for it. He needed his head clear if he was to do this. In truth, he had only heard of it in passing, aside from having once undergone it himself. He hardly knew the technicalities. But if anything, it would at least soothe Lee's passing if he was unsuccessful.

Without pushing him to sit up, he hovered over him. His mouth pressed against Lee's neck in what would have been an intimate moment, if not for Lee's dying breaths. "Just a little," he whispered. Richard wouldn't dare take more. Lee was holding on for dear life without him making it harder for him. With the utmost care he hooked his canines into skin, tugged, then pierced a connection into his jugular.

The blood was sweet, but mixed with something rotten. As soon as he could, Richard drew away and took in a deep breath. He then hooked his mouth onto his wrist, tore a wound, and pressed it with an urgency against Lee's mouth. "Drink," he demanded, terrified that he might have taken too much.

Lee's eyes were wide with fear. The pain had been intimate, and unexpected. It drew him back from the brink of unconsciousness. He didn't question. There was no argumentativeness left in him. Lee raised a shaking hand and cupped it over Richard's wrist as he allowed the man's blood into his mouth. _If he didn't have consumption before, he surely has it now,_ Lee thought to himself. It all was beginning to make sense to him. Richard's daredevil behavior, his itinerant lifestyle. 

He did have a death wish after all. More importantly, he wanted to die with Lee. Lee's chest, instead of swelling with air, filled with affection. He took but a few tentative swallows of the thick liquid before a coughing fit overtook him. He barely felt it when Richard rolled him onto his side, putting a handkerchief tenderly under his mouth to catch the spray. It left him winded, dizzy. He met Richard's eyes one final time in gratitude. 

"I'm glad you're here with me," Lee told him. 

His eyes rolled heavenward.

Richard stared down at him. He cupped his face.

"No. No, no," he shook his head when he realized what was happening. Slowly Lee's breath evened out, until eventually it simply stopped. His body sank limply. "Lee?" he breathed. "Talk to me. You can't—oh, I'm so sorry." He sat back, his hand clenching Lee's in his own while Richard rocked back and forth. The puncture wound on the man's neck looked angry and swollen. He hadn't been strong enough. Richard should have researched this months ago. He had always known it was coming. He hadn't though, he hadn't done it then, and it was too late now.

"Come back," he pleaded. "It's too early. Come back. I love you."

Lee looked at peace, a small smile on his face as if he'd been thinking of something wonderful when he died.

Richard didn't remember dying himself, but had read about bright lights, tunnels filled with loved ones and a sensation of flight. He hoped Lee was experiencing that now.

All was quiet. He knew he had to tell someone—the town's undertaker, their show foreman. He had an address of Lee's father in Boston. He would have to be informed, too. But for the time being, he just wanted to sit by Lee's side. 

Nearly five minutes passed with nothing but the sound of the wind outside and the occasional horse and carriage passing by. Richard wanted to find a secluded spot in the shade—the kind of spot where Lee preferred to sit reading a book—to bury him.

Then, suddenly, Lee gave a gasp and his hand closed firmly around Richard's. A reflex action, surely. A latent death spasm. But it wasn't. Lee's eyes were open, looking at him.

"I feel strange," he whispered.

Richard stiffened as if the rigor mortis had kicked awake in him instead of Lee. He looked wide-eyed at the man who had just died before him. The wound on his neck had faded, yet he looked dreadful—like the risen dead, rather than the born anew. "Of course," he said with half a voice.

Richard wanted to tell Lee that it was because of hunger, but a tremor suddenly ran through Lee and he promptly fell unconscious again. His heart still beat though, and it continued to do so, but he did not wake.

The change, Richard recalled it with relief. He understood what it was. Lee was no longer dying. He was recovering—but from a lot of damage.

Richard kissed him on the lips. "I'm here," he smiled. "I won't go. You'll live. God, Lee, you'll live!"

\- - - - -

Three days passed with the speed of molasses. Lee's condition vacillated between weak and confused to feverish and almost combative. He apologized profusely for his behavior when the fever broke and he felt well enough to sit up, full of shame for how his body had betrayed him. He desperately needed a bath.

"W—How am I alive?" he asked Richard, voice hoarse from all his coughing, but lungs feeling clearer than they had in months. "Could it be possible I didn't have consumption after all, but...but just a bad lung infection of some sort?"

Suddenly, a cramp in his stomach doubled him over. He looked up, his eyes ringed with crimson. "Gods, I'm starving."

"I imagine you are," Richard said. His words were hesitant. Kind-hearted Lee, he would have to learn how to hunt. "I'm sorry. I—well, you must have wondered how I got such a good aim. I said I've been shooting since I was a kid. That's not exactly true. I've been shooting for over fifty years now. I don't get ill. I age extremely kindly. And I passed it on to you, but it does come with some," he looked away, "lesser aspects. There was no time to tell you. Forgive me."

Lee straightened, eyeing Richard suspiciously. On the heels of his illness, his burst of laughter was a welcome surprise.

"Always the showman," he chuckled, smiling affectionately. "I'll be forever in your debt, Richard, for nursing me back to health." His hand sought out his neck, where he seemed to remember being bitten, but he must have been mistaken. Every memory of the past few days was hazy. "I am desperate for a bath," he admitted, "and I suppose I'm hungry. I've never really worried about food before. I've lived in relative comfort. But my stomach's never quite felt like this before." 

He tried to get to his feet, where he wavered unsteadily. He drew in a deep lungful of air, with ease. "This doesn't seem possible," he murmured.

Richard kissed him, decently this time. "It is. You owe me nothing. It's a gift. I'm just so glad I didn't lose you. I haven't done this before."

He had a robe at the ready for Lee for when it was time to get up. Richard handed it to him now. He walked Lee to a small stream not far from the empty wagon—having had to bargain all of his possessions in return for the wagon had been worth it—and gave him the privacy to bathe. Richard would want so many things, now that they had become possibilities and not merely wishes, but there were more important things. And seeing how amazed Lee was by the disease no longer wracking his body was worth it.

As Lee sank gratefully into the cool water, Richard sitting on a blanket on the creek bank and keeping an eye on him, he gave thought to what Richard had said. His claims sounded like something he'd read once in a penny dreadful — about creatures of the night who fed on blood, lived eternally, had fangs. At the thought of blood, his stomach gave a rumble and he chuckled. 

_But he'd been dying._ Maybe he had died, and this was Heaven. He had wanted Richard since the moment he'd met the man. Maybe this was God's way of rewarding him. Except, Lee didn't believe in God. And the feel of the creek bed silt under his feet was too real. His lungs, now able to take in so much air...and his heart, pounding frightfully fast. He was alive. He was well. And Richard had made it happen.

Should he even question why or how?

Scrubbed and feeling better than he had since 1883, Lee walked up out of the creek and reached for the robe. "We should have a picnic," he said. "It's a beautiful day."

Richard chuckled. "No, we need to get you fed first. Properly fed, not a picnic. You wait in the wagon for me. I'll bring you what you need." He cupped Lee's face. "Do not judge me for what I'll bring you. Don't be afraid."

He brought him back to the wagon and opened a few windows. The place was stifling hot and smelled of sickness. It would take time to get rid of that smell. "Half an hour," Richard promised. "It is so good to see you happy. I wouldn't be able to stay away from you for longer than that either way. And then we celebrate."

While he waited for Richard to return, Lee changed into a fresh linen shirt and pants. Then, he pulled his copy of "Great Expectations" down from a shelf, greeting it with a smile reserved for an old friend. He went back outside and sat down under a tree, the book open on his lap.

Lee noticed soon that could see the detail of the veins in the underside of every leaf above him. From ten feet away, he could see a parade of ants treading across the dirt. He could smell a campfire, but he couldn't tell where the smell was coming from. Everything felt fresh and new. He stretched his bare feet out in front of him, letting the breeze tickle his toes. He saw that a scar he'd had on his ankle—a bite from a neighbor's dog—was gone.

He was still wondering at this when Richard returned.

The distance between them was still longer than the human eye needed to discern specific details, but he could see that by his side walked a young girl, hardly older than ten. She was skipping ahead and returning to him whenever she got too far. A merry girl. Yet, he noticed, with a sickness in her, too.

When Richard introduced her, it turned out she too suffered from the dreadful illness. Consumption. Not too far along yet; she would have several years to live yet. Josephine was an orphan who lived with her aunt. Richard had gone behind the lady's back, convinced Josephine who had been playing by herself, and walked her here.

"We need to do this inside," Richard said, and quickly added, "We won't hurt her. I promise, it'll buy her more time." Not like Lee though. Lee was special.

Lee's eyes widened, but he turned to the little girl. "Hello," he smiled. "My name's Lee."

She blinked up at him. "You're the one who was sick, the one who nearly died." Stoutly she thrust her hand forward. "I'm Josephine, how do you do? Mr. Armitage says we should not take long. Auntie Rose can be dreadful when she can't find me."

Richard guiltily added, "Armitage is me. It's the oldest name I have. She's right. Auntie Rose is dreadful indeed." Beside him, Josephine giggled.

"Come up." Richard stretched out a hand. He supported Lee until he was safely inside, then closed the door, making sure not to lock it, and drew the curtains. He patted the good seat to ask her to sit down, reached for a small glass and crouched down in front of her.

"As soon as this is full, I'll patch it up and you leave, can you promise me that? Mr. Pace is a wonderful person, but he hasn't done this before, and he might need to be alone after it. I'll give you the ring as promised. It's worth a lot, so don't show it to your aunt, but buy yourself something nice when you're in town, deal?"

Lee, starting to feel more than a little worried, watched as Richard leaned in and whispered something to Josephine, all the while looking into her eyes. Nodding agreeably, she leaned forward, holding the glass in her hands. Richard slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew something shiny, a piece of jewelry, which he slipped onto his thumb.

Gently, he put a hand on Josephine's neck and flicked his thumb ever so slightly. Suddenly, blood started dripping from the young girl's neck.

"Richard..." Lee swallowed down a sick feeling that was quickly replaced with another growl of his stomach. What the hell was happening to him? 

It took less than a minute for the blood to fill the glass, and all the while Josephine held it patiently, a calm look on her face. When Richard was satisfied, he leaned over and lapped at the wound he had created. The whole exchange was spookily erotic. Things became even more surreal when Richard stood and brought the glass to Lee. 

Behind them, Josephine got up, took the ring and left. Richard heard the door close and locked it when she was safe. He offered the glass to Lee to take a drink from.

"It's the best way I can show you without making you fear me. It's not a joke, Lee. I wish that it was. You need to drink this and you shouldn't let it cool too much. Dead blood is nearly useless to us. I can't find someone again in this town. People can never find out. Please." 

But Richard didn't see Lee relent. Richard took a deep breath, raised the glass against his own lips and drank a small sip. It was so difficult not to swallow. Then he sat before Lee, canted his head to kiss him, but paused an inch before reaching him in hope that Lee crossed the rest of the distance. He couldn't force this onto the man, no matter how glad Richard was to still have him here and finally in better health.

Lee felt torn. Here was the man who had given the end of his life a meaning and adventure he'd been desperate for. Richard had saved him from death. And now he was to drink blood? 

But he could smell it, and it smelled better than any steak he'd eaten on any ranch—and here in Texas a steak could go from the steer to the table in less than an hour. He wanted so desperately to kiss Richard again, to feel those lips, so powerful and yet so gentle at the same time. Gods, how he wanted him. And he was so _hungry._ He was hungry for blood.

He caressed Richard's face, unable to hide his desire. "Thank you for saving me, Richard. Armstrong, Armitage, whoever you are. Maybe I've sold my soul to the devil. If so, I'm ready to burn!" he declared, and kissed him. As their tongues met, the taste of Josephine's blood exploded on his palate.

"My god," he whispered, pulling away for air. "I want the rest."

Richard would have told him there was no devil, or that in his eyes he and God were one, considering the suffering he had seen in the world, but instead he only handed Lee the glass and watched as he drank. Lee became visibly stronger with every swallow, and visibly more breathy. A fire stirred in Richard's loins. As soon as the glass was emptied, he took it out of Lee's hands, surged forward and clashed their lips together.

"I've been wanting to do this for months," said he between a nip and a lick. The time had never been right, not to mention that Lee's constitution couldn't have handled more than a delicate kiss. The time for that was over. The blood would not be enough in a few hours, he knew, but it would do for now. Richard hadn't wanted to find themselves someone to drink straight from the vein, which would have only scared Lee away before he had had a sip. "I'll tell you all you want to know later. For now, I need you."

\- - - - - 

Theirs was a passionate romance. Lee, now that his body was returned to the vigor and strength he had had in his 20s, was insatiable—not just for Richard, but for knowledge. He hungered for it.

As time passed, however, Lee grew quickly weary of living out of a wagon.

"I'd like to travel," he told Richard in 1887. "I want to see the world."

"Where to?" asked Richard, who had almost outlived the time he could be Richard Armstrong before he needed to take on a new identity elsewhere. "Are there places you've always wanted to go?" They had enough money now; they could do whatever they wanted to.

Lee knew how long Richard had been on this earth. "I know you've been everywhere, Richard. Probably more than once. I was serious about what I said while I lay dying. I do want to go to medical school. I want to find a cure for consumption. I don't want people like Josephine to suffer as I did." 

But Josephine seemed to be thriving now. She had color in her cheeks and played right along with the other children. Richard said it was probably due to his bite. She would no doubt live a long, healthy life.

He reached for Richard's hand and squeezed it. "But before that, I'd like for you and I to sail around the world. I'd like to see the orient, and India, and Egypt, and Greece...and England, your home. Can we do that? Before we leave, I'll send letters to a few medical schools—see if any of them will accept me."

"They wouldn't know where to send us letters," smiled Richard, "and they'd all want you. Let's just travel for a few months and then we'll get you into Oxford. I'm not really from England, you know. I've lived there so long that it feels like home. I've always wanted to see Australia though. Can I take you there?"

"I'd love to see Australia. Oh, and we'd surely have to take a boat to get there!" Lee bounced excitedly in his seat like a child. "I would like nothing better than to travel with you, Richard. I want you to keep teaching me. Teach me everything."

Though it was more likely that in due time, studious Lee would become the one teaching Richard everything, Richard lived to indulge him for now. He found great joy in watching Lee's response to the rocking of the sea, a month later, and then in discovering the new continent together with him.

They traveled up the east coast to Darwin, where they booked passage into Asia, all the way west to India, then to China for a journey by train across Russia.

Their time together was idyllic. Lee felt no fear, despite travelling through strange lands and encountering even stranger people. They had incredible sex that rarely lost its vigor, they fed regularly without killing, and there was always something to do—something to learn.

When they finally arrived in England, it was practically anti-climactic. The year was 1895. They stayed in a posh hotel and Richard procured them a home. Meanwhile, Lee visited the university and introduced himself to the Dean of Medicine—who was duly impressed with Lee's knowledge. He was accepted to begin study in the fall.

Years went by, as they tended to when one wasn't paying attention. Lee became a physician. Sadly, he never got the chance to work with Joseph Lister, who had become quite elderly by the time Lee was ready to embark into his own practice. However, Lee conducted his own private research. Since he himself could not get ill, he collected and studied the blood of those who were, diligently taking notes over a twenty-five year period.

When he heard that Sir Alexander Fleming was working on a similar project in Scotland, he told Richard that he needed to go away for awhile. He traveled and met with Fleming, and his colleagues, Howard Florey and Ernst Boris Chain. After he presented his research, they worked together with Lee as a silent partner for a few years, and soon discovered penicillin. 

Lee's proudest moment came when he watched his colleagues receive the Nobel Prize in 1945. Their work saved countless lives. 

Richard had left England during World War II and set up residence in Patagonia in South America. The journey to him was bittersweet. By then, Lee had been a vampire for 60 years. Richard, after hugging him, handed him a letter he had received from America. 

_My Dear Eternal Friends,_ the feminine handwriting read, _I write this on my deathbed and I'll surely be in the ground by the time it reaches you. It's my heart. Fickle things, hearts. The beautiful ring you gave me as a child turned out to be worth quite a bit of money. It helped fund a better life for me and my family. We moved to California. I'm a grandmother now, twice over. Little Elly was born just last week. She's already a spitfire, like her grandmother. I was hoping, from time to time, that you two might come check on her, as you did me. It would mean a great deal to this old lady knowing she has friends like you in this crazy world. Much love, Josephine._

Lee sat on the side porch for hours with the letter in his lap and thought about the sweet little girl who had been his first meal. The letter, now wet with his tears, was decades old. Included was a message from Josephine's granddaughter, who had found the letter in her late mother's belongings.

Josephine.

For the first time since his turning, Lee felt regret.

"There are people in Japan who are dying from radiation poisoning," he told Richard when the man came out and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'd like to go there and try to help them."

Richard understood. Lee had turned into a man of the world since his studies with Fleming, and while they both enjoyed the science of things, Lee's passion was only a piqued curiosity for Richard. He wasn't sure whether radioactivity was safe for them—but if anyone knew, it would be Lee.

"Have you found a place?" he asked, certain already that Lee might have. "Maybe I'll pay a visit when I can. I've not been to Japan in a long while."

"Not yet," Lee handed the letter back to Richard. "It's just something I've been thinking about since I left Europe. It's horrible, what was done to those people. They'll need all the doctors they can muster up, I imagine. Even if those doctors once supported the Allies. I wouldn't pressure you to come. You've seen the photographs. It's dangerous over there. But you know me...I have a taste for danger." He stood. "You have a beautiful home here, Richard," Lee hugged him. "This countryside, it suits you. I was terrified when I heard about the London bombings. But I knew you'd be sensible and leave."

"You do have a taste for it. Remember when you got me to shoot an apple out from between your legs? You nearly had me terrified about never having you in my bed again."

A boy passed in their periphery, ungainly, but stubborn. He paused to look at them only shortly before quickly hurrying on.

"I have a son," Richard said out of the blue. He breathed out. "Not by blood," he needed to affirm, because while they both enjoyed the company of others, they had still never discussed that. "Javez. I've known him since his birth. His mother worked for me. She fell ill and asked me to look after him. I said yes. He's a good lad. Likes books, like you, and running around, unlike both of us. I could come to Japan, but not until a few years."

"It was _you_ who taught me to live again, Richard," Lee reminded him, eyes following the youth. "You're a kind man. And I love you. I want you to know that there's been no one but you—in my heart. I don't presume to tell you that I demand faithfulness of you. Of course, I don't. I just wanted you to know that—for me—there is no one else. No one could take your place. Anyway," Lee sniffed, wiping at his eyes with the palms of both hands, "I'd like to stay a few days, make my travel arrangements and all that. I've missed you."

Richard drew him in his arms. "There is always room for you, love. Make it a week at least, if you can. You should get to know him, and we really need to get reacquainted. You have to tell me everything. I'd like to hear it." It felt too much like a goodbye, despite having all the time in the world. They would meet again in a few years. And they wouldn't really be apart in their hearts. Still.

They had different paths for now.

Lee, who was never terribly comfortable around young children, gave Richard the week. But he was eager to see Japan and study the effects of the radiation. The idea of atomic warfare both horrified and fascinated him. He wanted to learn everything he could about this threat.

He wrote Richard every week or so, but as the years passed, Lee was in no hurry to return to him. There was always something new to learn—something else to see.

The biggest test of their friendship was yet to come. In 1955, Richard met Evelyn and they fell in love. She bore Richard three children. On principle, Lee stayed away. How could Richard ever begin to explain Lee to a wife and kids?

Lee stayed in the Orient until war broke out in the beautiful country of Vietnam where he had made his home. He left for a few years in New Delhi, then moved on to Africa, where he heard tell of a virus rumored to stem from local primates, which had begun spreading around the world. There was no cure. Scientists had taken to calling it HIV, and the resultant disease, AIDS, was very troubling.

The most horrible fallout of the virus was the toll it was taking on the homosexual community. Lee set up an office in New York City and began seeing patients. The prognosis was grim for those who contracted the virus, and he tried to educate as many as he could against its spread.

During this time, Lee also met a lot of professionals in the burgeoning technology field and began a thirty-year romance with computers.

He was flipping through television channels in 1984 when he saw Richard in the trailer for a movie called _The Code._ Richard had finally gone back to performing. He hadn't mentioned that in any of his letters. Lee smiled. Nearly forty years had passed. Richard's children were long grown, his wife deceased. 

It was time to go see his friend again.


	22. Presents Optional; Presence Mandatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Friendly Fire" resumes production and life goes on after Rob's funeral. Then, one day, Richard makes a shocking announcement.

The curtains lowered and shielded away the Fresnels lighting the stage from the front. A warm glow fell over the small crowd, still interlinked through arms and hands, before they started to disperse and the play was truly over.

 _Friendly Fire_ ranked first and was sold out every night for the following few weeks, as it was considered to continue to do for the rest of its run. There were people without tickets outside the National frequently, asking if someone had a spare one left. Nobody had; when someone couldn't make it, the tickets were sold online for twice the regular fare.

But tonight was special. It was the first night after the renovations were completed, and people had been waiting. Richard and Dean played like unbound men. They were no longer Richard and Dean, up on that stage. They were Joseph and John. They were in love. Peter had had to intervene once or twice when the play was becoming too risqué. Critics loved a good love story, and they loved a love scene enacted like it was actually happening, but they would not be too kind when it looked so credible and raised the temperature in the audience so considerably that it was like they were given an exclusive peek into the heated love life of two actors—especially when it was supposed to be a tragedy.

Aidan sat at the back, Lee next to him. "They're going to keep doing this, aren't they?" he leaned in and whispered.

"Yes," Lee inclined his head, raised his eyebrow. "Did you expect differently?"

No, Aidan didn't think he had. He leaned back in his seat. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay." Aidan smiled at Lee knowingly. "Richard doesn't taste as good to him as I do. So, okay."

Lee, who normally would have used that set-up for an off-color remark, chose to remain silent.

\- - - - 

_'Actor Killed in Motorcycle Accident.'_

That's what the headlines announcing Rob's death had read. Richard and Lee were fortunate enough to have friends and connections in many professions—among them coroners and journalists. Richard had paid for Rob's funeral and arrangements. It was never a question of not doing so. Rob's mother was nowhere to be found, and he’d had few friends. Surprisingly, a good many people showed up to bid him farewell. Perhaps it was partially due to the lavish layout of food Lee and Richard had planned for afterwards.

Jed came. Will did not.

"I left him," Jed confided to Richard, ever-present glass of whiskey in his hand. “Haven’t seen him since.”

None of the visitors paid them attention, except occasionally for Aidan or Dean, who had come to the funeral out of a sense of responsibility but did not shed a tear. Richard carried a glass of whiskey of his own. "Do you think I should look him up?" Richard asked. "I will if it means something to you. If not though, I think I'll give it a rest for a while. Will... a parent shouldn't be ashamed of his own son, should he?"

"You were a good father, Richard," Jed answered him the best way he knew how. "He told me you took care of them all, and you loved them, probably more than most fathers would. His choices were his own. You aren't to blame for how Will turned out. And I'm done blaming myself as well."

Jed downed his whiskey in one gulp and winced at the burn. "I'm thinking it's time for me to move. I've always wanted to visit Seattle, Washington. Maybe there's a place for me there."

"I've heard Argentina is nice this time of the year." Richard smiled sadly. He offered Jed a hand. "When _Friendly Fire_ ends, it's time for me to change my life. I've been here too long. Much longer and people will find out. Should you seek the company, that's where I'm headed. I think a change of scenery will do you good. I'm sorry that your first one turned out this horribly."

When they parted hands, they parted ways. Lee came up next to Richard. Together they watched as Jed disappeared from view. "He looks lonely," Lee confided. "He must have really wanted to bring out the good in Rob. I can only imagine what that's like, having sired one and having your partner corrupt him until it becomes his death. All that pain to make him stronger, only for it to have been useless. Don't you worry, darling," Lee leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, "no one will ever corrupt me." 

They were quiet a few moments, watching the crowd. Aside from the mostly dark and black attire, it was hard to tell they were gathered for a funeral. There was a distinct lack of people visibly in mourning.

"I'm not sure I'm going to want to go to Argentina with you," Lee confessed. "I'm sorry."

"It's not what I expect from you," said Richard in reply. He watched as Aidan laughed at something Dean said, then seemed to remember they were at a funeral and changed his bearing. The mirth did not leave his eyes. Richard had been afraid Aidan would be riddled with guilt over shooting Rob. Aidan did feel guilty, but with Lee telling him every time they met that Rob had given them no other choice, and with Dean always supportive of him, the guilt had weakened until it was barely troublesome. "Will you stick around? You should try acting again, Lee. You were always beautiful when you were on that stage."

Lee's countenance softened. "I'm not going to lie. It's been torture watching you up there, Richard. I do miss it. But you know me...always waiting for just the right role. Who knows? Maybe someday I'll get to work with Dean or Aidan—or both."

A smile curved Richard's lips. He knew his friend better than Lee could suspect. "You mean you hope for a similar role like mine opposite Aidan. You're dreadfully transparent when it comes to him. I can't blame you. I half expected you to try for a role in _Friendly Fire_ when you first saw him. If you ever do find it, that right role, you promise to send me a message, won't you? I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Or opposite Dean, or you." Lee fell into a flushed silence for what might have been the first time in thirty years. "Watching them makes me want to fall in love again."

Aidan noticed their gaze on them and smiled, before returning to the conversation he was having with Dean and Peter next to him.

Richard leaned back against the wall. "You've had plenty of infatuation. You're serious this time, aren't you?" He swirled the whiskey delicately in his glass. "Mortal? Or does he get to be like us?"

"It doesn't matter," Lee's gaze swept the room, as if he'd find love in the crowd. "It's just...watching them—the gestures, the little things—makes me miss it. Ah, but I'm certain I'd grow tired of it quickly. You know me better than anyone, Richard. Be a gem and talk me out of it."

"I've tried to be that person for you for a long time," smiled Richard. "I wouldn't talk you out of your first interest in affection in decades. So what if you grow tired of it quickly? If you want to feel like that, then feel like that."

"I just feel sorry for whomever I decide to turn my affections upon," Lee lamented, reaching with both hands towards a waiter carrying a tray and plucking two martinis off it. He handed one to Richard and their fingers brushed. "I'm a terribly inattentive boyfriend, as you recall. Insatiable in bed though," he grinned rakishly. "Maybe you and I should try again—before you leave."

What Lee left unsaid was more painful, and impossible to say. _You don't belong to me, but I don't want you to leave._

Ignorant of the others in the room, Richard leaned forward and kissed Lee above his left eye. "We couldn't be like those young lovers anymore, Lee. We've known each other too long for that. Those first months of never getting out of bed, of stupid grins and distracted looks wherever you're somewhere the other is not, I couldn't do that with you. We're both not like that. But you've always been in my heart. If you truly want the small things, you need only stop pushing them away."

"You can inscribe that on my tombstone," Lee deadpanned, then realized what he'd said and chuckled. "Well, you know what I mean."

\- - - - 

Months passed, which turned into a year. _Friendly Fire_ enjoyed a strong run, leaving its cast—even those with bit parts, like Adam—with celebrity status. Photos of Dean and Richard together decorated billboards and buses, and countless magazine covers.

But Aidan's show also gained some notoriety when fans came to learn of his relationship to Dean and their curiosity won out. As their time together became few and far between, Aidan and Dean began to appreciate it more.

Whenever one had a day off—sparse though they were—they'd invariably be at the other's show, waiting patiently for the curtain call and caring little to none whether cameras caught the kisses that followed. Aidan always glowed in his boyfriend's presence, and Dean not less so. There continued to be times when they were reminded of Rob's echo in the world. Reporters used it now and then to illustrate how the play had had to overcome some struggles before it truly became successful.

Dean's new understudy was good at what he did. Dean never got ill, but he gave him the space to perform every once in a while. Richard did not mind it. People still continued to love the enactment when it was between Dean and Richard best. Aidan had once told him he could have sworn some straight hearts were turned upon watching their scenes together.

When Christmas came around again, just over a year after Rob's death, both plays had a one week hiatus. 

A beautifully engraved invitation arrived at Dean and Aidan's apartment addressed to Mr. Aidan Turner and Mr. Dean O'Gorman. Lee was inviting them to spend the week off at his home. It would be just the four of them, a note assured them.

 _Presents optional; presence mandatory,_ read the final line.

"Well?" Dean had turned to Aidan. "D'you fancy it?"

"I fancy it," Aidan had laughed, and so at the start of the week, a hand raised to knock on the door to Lee's apartment.

Snow was melting in Aidan's hair and on his scarf. Dean, wisely, wore a wool cap, which he slipped off into his hands as Richard opened the door. 

"I'm so glad you two decided to come," Richard told them both. 

"Lee did impress a sense of urgency upon us," Dean hugged him.

"As well he should have," Richard turned to Aidan and hugged him as well. "It's my goodbye party. I'm leaving for Argentina on January fifth."

A silence. 

"My contract stated a year," said Richard, reacting to the shocked look on Dean's face. "I will announce having loved _Friendly Fire_ , but have signed a contract starting February 6th that I want to honor." He stepped aside for them to enter. The cold winter city was stretched out beneath them. Lee's house however was warm. "I'll tell you all about it, but do come in. It's so impersonal having this conversation here."

"You're starting to sound like me!" Lee admonished from the apartment. Dean and Richard heard the whisper and chuckled, and Aidan accepted it as another thing that didn't belong to his world and let it slide.

Tears came unbidden to Dean's eyes, followed quickly by shame. The news made him cold. "It...it's so _soon_ ," he said mournfully. "It won't be the same without you."

"But it will still be very, very good," Richard assured him, cupping Dean's face with one hand. "The best possible replacement has been found for me. The timing is perfect, actually. Luke's gotten a film role, so he wasn't interested. We were able to go outside the company. I personally can think of no one better to replace me."

"Who is it?" Dean wondered, unconvinced.

"It's me," Lee handed them both a beer. "I hope that meets with your approval, Dean."

Surprised as Dean was, as confused was Aidan. "You're not going with him? You're his agent." Argentina was a long way from home, or so he thought. Now he had to imagine Lee as Joseph. Undoubtedly the crowd would love them, strange as the combination was to him. On top of that, Aidan realized he had gotten rather attached to Richard.

"London's not quite done having its way with me, apparently," Lee smiled wryly. 

For the first time, Dean looked—truly looked—at Lee, and he realized just how handsome he was. "I cannot think of anyone more qualified to play Joseph," he admitted, walking closer to the man, picturing him in Joseph's wire spectacles, "but are you sure you're ready to—"

His question was cut off as Lee swept Dean into his arms and kissed him fervently. Dean's beer began slipping from his fingers, and would have fallen to the carpeting if Richard hadn't caught it.

"I think they'll be fine," Richard winked at Aidan. "Will you?"

Aidan stared open-mouthed. "This...thing with just kissing people, it runs in the family, doesn't it?" He had spent the last year getting over Richard kissing Dean on stage; he hoped he wouldn't need as much time for Lee. Apparently Dean was just going to continue to be kissed in front of Aidan and there was little he was going to be able to do about it.

"Not generally," said Richard.

"But regularly when it's Dean," commented Aidan dryly. "For Christ's sake. Lee. Don't bother keeping work separate from private life, why don't you?"

Lee made a small show of straightening Dean's sweater and patting down his own, before turning to Aidan. "I'm a tall man. There's plenty of me to go around, Aidan." He smiled predatorily and ran a gentle finger down Aidan's cheek. Aidan could tell by the dark brown color of his eyes that Lee wasn't looking to feed and was just being his embarrassingly honest self. "Kiss me, then. Make it fair all around."

Lee's cocky nature still made Aidan awkward, but by now he was expecting it. He patted Lee's cheek in the same fashion, not standing down or backing away for him. "Maybe when I feel you've earned it. Be a good boy, Lee. Surprise me." He sank into the pillows next to Dean, blatantly leaning into him until he was practically lying on the expensive couch, shoes kicked off, and tilting his head up for a kiss. His neck was spotless. Nobody could tell that every week after Dean fed from that spot, they ended up having amazing sex that couldn't be rivaled by the strangest kinks. "So, Argentina?"

Lee scoffed half-heartedly, trying not to let on how much being spurned hurt him. He also had no desire to hear conversations about Richard leaving, so he turned and went into the kitchen to check on the appetizers he'd put in the oven.

"It's beautiful there," Richard told them, eyeing Lee's retreating form with affection. “Buenos Aires is a beautiful city by the sea, but close enough to snow covered mountains so that I'll never be far from beauty. Of course, I'll need to brush up on my Spanish. I was quite fluent when I was living in Texas, back when I met Lee."

"I'm sure it's like riding a bike," Dean's voice sounded strained. "You're brilliant, Richard. I'm sure you'll be speaking like one born there in no time." He got to his feet. "I'm going to go see if Lee needs any help."

"I'm afraid my leaving won't sit well with either of them," Richard confessed to Aidan when they were alone. He leaned back in his armchair and took a long swallow of beer. "Maybe it's a mistake. Maybe it's too soon."

\- - - - -

Dean found Lee in the pantry, a dish towel held against the lower half of his face to stifle his sobs.

"Oh...hey..." Dean had never seen Lee in such a state, and wasn't completely sure how to respond. He tried for a hug.

"You must pretend you didn't find me like this," Lee entreated, squeezing the blond tightly, then pulling away, "but I'm afraid I'm not responding well to Richard's decision to leave. I'll be better, in time, Dean. I promise you."

"I'm going to miss him too," Dean admitted. "We'll have each other. A sad consolation, I know."

"He's my maker. Yours too, but it's...different." Lee absently pushed at a plate, piled and ready for their meal later that day. "He's the closest person I've had to a partner, Dean. But people will start to realize something is wrong if he doesn't go. He has been here too long. It's what we must all do eventually. A few generations from now it'll be safe to return. Then it'll be my time to go. I don't know, Dean. I wish I could follow him. Sometimes I wonder why I don't."

"You're a free spirit," Dean picked up one of the bacon wrapped water chestnuts on the pile by its toothpick and plopped it into his mouth. "My god, this is incredible," he muttered around it. "Let me guess, you're also a master chef."

"Not a master," Lee smiled, "but I did take a few courses at Le Cordon Bleu." He too tried one of the rumaki. "I am rather good, aren't I?"

"Maybe you and I could take some classes together," Dean suggested. "How do you feel about photography?"

"I've always wanted to try that." Lee wiped away the last of his tears, helping himself to another.

\- - - - -

They didn't return for a long while. Aidan was fine with that. He had made himself comfortable on the couch and was popping one of the olives from the tray on the table in his mouth as he looked at Richard.

"You're right," he said at long last. "He's more sensitive than he lets on. Does it have to be now? A few years wouldn't hurt, would they? Just when I got used to you snogging my boyfriend in front of an audience." Aidan hoped that maybe the light comment could cheer up the mood somewhat.

"Have you seen this?" Richard reached into the pocket of his jeans, as if rehearsed, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Granted, it's from a tabloid, but this is how it starts."

Aidan unfolded the paper, which turned out to be from _The Daily Mail._

The headline read: _Richard Armitage Does Not Age!_ and below it: _Could He Be an Alien?_

When Aidan's eyes raised to Richard's questioningly, Richard smiled, "I'm not an alien."

"I didn't think you were. But, you know, can't you pretend you look older for a while? I don't know, get admitted to the hospital with back problems or something?" Aidan frowned. "Can you even go to a hospital? Are you registered?"

Richard's face was filled with genuine surprise.

"Aidan," he cocked his head to the side, "you're acting as if you've grown fond of me."

In response to those words, Aidan scowled. A second later that expression softened. "You've done a lot for Dean. And I know you two kiss, but I don't believe he has ever gone further than that. I don't know, I suppose I can live with that. What I do know," he pointed to the kitchen, "is that your presence means a lot to him, and therefore to me. Dean would miss you a lot."

"We haven't," Richard told him, "gone further than what you've seen on stage. Honestly. But I won't lie to you. I do desire him. From the second I saw him that day at the audition. Even reading his name gave me a thrill. I cannot explain it, Aidan. Any more than I can explain why I need to move on. I'm sorry for any distress I've caused you. I know I've thrown your life into upheaval. But I'm hoping that the good has outweighed the bad."

"I'm still with him," Aidan smiled without smugness or judgment. "You saving his life meant a lot to me, even if you might have saved him for selfish reasons at the time. He wouldn't be here without you." He breathed out and got up. "I need to talk to Dean about something. Please excuse me."

Aidan knocked gingerly on the kitchen door and only entered when he received a reply. He didn't want to barge into anything, and he tried not to look at Lee's fading traces of distress out of respect when he led Dean to the first room with a bit of privacy that he could find. Ironically, it turned out to be the bedroom. Aidan sat down and patted the spot next to him. "I'm going to write this down, because I want it to remain between us, okay?" Aidan had figured out about their supersensitive hearing a while ago. He didn't want to risk it and pulled out his phone.

 _Do you still want him?_ , it said. _Honest question._

Dean's head shot up after he read what Aidan wrote, but he found no anger or sadness in his boyfriend's eyes—only curiosity. Hesitantly, he took the phone in his fingers and, in full view of Aidan, texted four words: _Yes. More than ever._

Aidan read those words over several times. He stood on the edge of a decision that could make or break things, and his answer was important. He reached for his phone and shielded the message from view until he was absolutely sure it was what he wanted to communicate.

When he showed the message, he bit on his lip.

_Go to him. Come back to me._

Dean didn't have to text back a response. He drew Aidan into his arms. "I love you," he told him, holding onto him fiercely. "Thank you for giving me this."

\- - - - - 

Dinner was incredible. Lee's time at the culinary institute had certainly been well spent. Few words were exchanged as the quartet ate, aside from some compliments and small talk.

When Lee brought out a platter of bite-sized desserts, he turned to Aidan. "So. I have two tickets—front row balcony—to _Phantom of the Opera._ Richard finds musicals tedious. I was hoping I could talk you into coming with me, Aidan."

"When?" Aidan wondered over a bite of what tasted like strawberry cheesecake with chocolate shavings. "This week?" He exchanged a glance with Dean and smiled at him about something that would make no sense to Richard or Lee. "I've actually always wanted to see it, but, you know, funds. You said front row balcony seats?"

"It's tomorrow night," Lee informed him, pouring coffee all around. "I hope the notice isn't too short. You two are here for the week, after all, and I can't imagine these two won't find something to do to amuse themselves."

Beneath the table, Dean reached for Aidan's thigh and gave it a meaningful squeeze.

Aidan let out a chuckle. He nodded at Dean, not caring if it only made sense to the two of them. It was oddly convenient for Lee to bring this up. Aidan didn't really want to be in a place where he could hear things when Dean would be with Richard. "I don't think we need to worry about that. Sure, I'm in. If," he looked at Dean again, "my boyfriend doesn't mind me going out with someone else for a night." That too was laden with a double entendre. "This is really delicious, by the way. What's it called?"

"I think it's high time you two got to spend some time together," Dean's eyes met Lee's. "And Aidan would never admit to it, but he adores musicals." 

"Ah, good. A man after my own heart," Lee smiled. "That particular petit-four glacé is one I invented. It hasn't got a name yet. But I might name it in your honor, since you're so fond of it." Lee licked a bit of strawberry glaze off his own middle finger. "Something about dark Irish passion..."

"That would be very appropriate," Dean agreed.

"With strawberries," Richard mused, quite effectively conjuring up an image of Aidan with strawberry that had everyone at the table thinking of uses for Aidan and strawberry glaze, but for Aidan, who sat embarrassed at the mention.

"I'm sure you'll have to paint the dish green before the rest of the world will accept the Irish part," he murmured, despite the nervousness that stemmed from Dean and his sudden agreement. "But thanks. It really is a great dish. Have you named one after Richard yet?"

Richard laughed. "Oh, yes. It contains blood orange and passion fruit, very fittingly. I wouldn't burden you with the name."

"Oh, but you've been having fun over mine." Aidan raised his brow.

"...Midnight Passion," Richard mumbled. "The critics were very interested in meeting the lovely lady that had served as the muse. I was standing right next to them. They had no idea."

Aidan laughed. He felt bolder already. "Maybe you should make us Midnight Passion tomorrow, Lee. I need to try this dish."

"Something tells me it's a flavor that only Lee and Richard can truly appreciate," Dean laughed nervously, taking his napkin from his lap and putting it onto the table. "And my dessert, Lee?" he asked, "what would it contain?"

"Not fruit," Lee cocked his head as if considering. "Cinnamon, I think. Nutmeg. Comforting, smooth tastes that soothe the mind and body."

"You make it sound like a weekend getaway at a spa," Richard grinned over his coffee mug. "But he does have that effect on people."

"Most people," Lee agreed.

"Me," acknowledged Aidan. He took another bite of the dish that was going to be named after him. He didn't mind; it was just really good.

They spent the rest of the evening on wine and an increasing amount of laughter. It turned out that being a vampire didn't mean they were impervious to alcohol—just a lot more resilient. So it was Aidan who was quite tipsy when the three of them were still hardly affected.

"I think," Dean said finally, looking at the clock on the mantel and seeing it read half past midnight, "I should think about putting this one to bed."

Lee had given them their own room—one of the three elegant bedrooms in his flat—decorated in a tribal theme. 

"What say, Aid?" Dean held out his hand to Aidan, still laying back comfortably in the corner of the buttery leather sofa.

"Mh, I'm comfortable right here," said Aidan lazily. "Not tired yet."

"I'll have to pour you into bed as it is," Dean smiled affectionately, but acquiesced, sitting down beside him again and snuggling up to him.

"I hope you enjoy the accommodations," Lee said. "I don't have guests nearly enough."

"Perfect!" said Aidan as he shifted and laid both legs on Dean's lap. He leaned in to whisper to his boyfriend's ear, "Unless you want to take me to bed for something else," and let his lips intentionally graze his ear. He wasn't very subtle about it, even less so when he mentioned aloud, "Or do you want to spend some time together?"

"I certainly wouldn't say no to some private time with our host," Richard smiled crookedly, running two gentle fingers along Lee's jaw.

"Mmm, yes," Lee mumbled, distracted. "You two should definitely consider going to bed sometime soon."

Ten minutes later, snuggled under the soft down comforter on Lee's million-count Egyptian cotton sheets, Dean held Aidan close, inhaling his scent. "You smell like chocolate, strawberries, soap, and—"

"—lots of wine," Aidan grinned. He kissed Dean with wet lips, his hands cupping his face, and wriggled forward into the embrace. He truly wasn't that tired. "I love you, Dean O'Gorman. You are always so warm. And amazing in bed." He brushed the cool of his ring against Dean's lips. "I'm yours. Nobody is going to change that."

"Not in a hundred lifetimes," Dean assured him. "To think this all started with a callback to an audition. And it turned into a callback—to life. I'm not squandering any of it away."


	23. Buenos Aires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan wakes up one day, fifteen years later, and finds a gray hair. He decides ... it's time.

\- - - - -

Time passed.

Dean never did consummate his feelings for Richard during that week, despite the multitude of windows of opportunity opened by Lee and Aidan. Instead he chose to honor his commitment to Aidan and simply spent the time truly getting to know the man who'd given him a second chance at life.

Richard's farewell was a sad one. It was Lee, not surprisingly, who suffered most in the weeks that followed his departure. Thankfully, _Friendly Fire_ resumed its run and Lee was received quite well as the new Joseph Firestone.

But like all good things, the play's popularity began to wane. Everyone who had wanted to see it--multiple times--eventually got around to doing so. The cast and director were ready to move on. And so they did.

Peter Jackson, inspired by Dean and Aidan's relationship, wrote a play in which he asked the two of them to star.

Years passed, and one successful project turned into another. While Lee never did accomplish his goal of getting Aidan and Dean to move into his apartment, he did manage to get them to rent their own flat in the same building as his, three floors down.

The days were happy ones. They did what they wanted, and they did it with great passion. 

Then, one morning, Dean awoke to find the bed cold beside him. After searching the flat, he finally found Aidan in front of their bathroom mirror. He had found a grey hair.

"I like it," Dean cupped Aidan's face in his hands, kissing him softly, "it gives you character, Aid."

"It gives me mortality," Aidan sighed as he kept looking at the single hair, reluctant to pull it out but not done deciding. He looked at Dean and leaned back against him. "It's normal, I know. Remember how Richard said you feeding on me should give me a longer prime?"

And that prime had lasted some eighteen years since the moment Dean had started to feed on him. Aidan still looked not a day over thirty for a man who was really forty-five. He was still frequently asked for photo shoots after one cinematic role a few years back that had gotten him some fame, and he had never worried about his age that much. That was, until today.

"I think it's time," he said at last.

Dean had both dreaded and looked forward to Aidan's decision for years. Their eyes met in the mirror. "Okay, love," he whispered, leaning his head on Aidan's shoulder. "Okay."

"...Let's go on a trip," Aidan tipped sideways to kiss Dean's cheek. "It's been a long while since we saw him. Lee could stop sending us his propaganda." Every year around New Year they had receive one postcard, encouraging them to get on a plane and come over. Lee would always come back a few months later and ask them if they got his open invitation.

It seemed like the right time.

Aidan kissed him again. "I'm taking a few weeks off. Come with me?"

"Yes," Dean agreed immediately. "Yes, of course. And I do want to visit Lee. But, I've been thinking about it, Aidan, I was wondering how you'd feel about Richard being the one. It would make us truly brothers--and brothers with Lee as well. It would only cement the bond we've come to feel."

The tension in Aidan's frame started to subside. "Well, it's a _bit_ awkward to think of you as a father figure. Richard would be fine." He turned and sat onto the counter, drawing Dean into an embrace. "Drink from me one last time. Then we go, okay?"

\- - - - -

The heat of Buenos Aires hit them like a sandstorm in a desert, as soon as they set foot outside the air-conditioned airport. Aidan laughed at it. He had been in London for the greater part of his life; while he loved that city, it felt like he was finally allowed to breathe again, as holidays tended to have that effect. He took care to look out for Dean, who might have trouble with the sudden onslaught of sun, but Dean seemed fine. A little faint, that was all.

He steered them into a cab, offered the driver a handwritten address, and took in the scenery as they left the big city for the conglomerated smaller quarters and finally the outskirts of town. Richard, it turned out, had gotten a hold of what appeared an old plantation house. Aidan couldn't recall Argentina having been a country of plantations in the past, but then he hadn't read up on the history of the country like he loved to do before a trip, occupied with other concerns. Either way it was quiet there, surrounded by grassland, and enormous. The taxi driver dropped them off at the gate, from which they still had a twenty minute walk. Lee's postcards hadn't lied.

They hadn't told Richard or Lee. Perhaps that was why halfway up the drive they were roused by a call that drew their attention to a small shadowy path under a tree, where Richard had been reading a book. "Dean?" he asked in wonder over the distance between them. "Aidan?"

As soon as Richard knew his eyes weren't deceiving him, he got up and hurried to the path. There he examined them for a long time, finally breaking out into a grin. "Oh, but it's good to see you! Finally! Come in, come in, let's get those suitcases in the house and you with a nice cool drink. Lee's here and taking a nap, but I'm sure he doesn't mind if I wake him up for this."

"Wait," Dean whispered, and before Richard could turn away, Dean propelled himself into his maker's arms. "I've missed you so much," he told him, unable to hold back his tears. 

The contact brought back so many memories. Richard suddenly had to restrain himself from kissing him there and then. He had thought that years would change it. Apparently it was as immutable as their lives had become. He extricated himself with difficulty. "I missed you too. And you, Aidan. I know someone who will be very happy to see you here. Perhaps you should go find him when we get rid of those suitcases. You'll find him upstairs, in the room all the way to the back. Left hand side. It's got a great view, too."

The plantation was beautiful. Surrounded by green and dark soil, subtle tones of gold and bronze highlighted the ivory walls. It wasn't hard to imagine living there, just the four of them, despite it being smack dab in the middle of a foreign country, and neither of them speaking a word of Spanish for it.

Aidan walked on ahead while Dean walked behind, arm in arm with Richard.

"It's time," he told him, when Aidan ducked into Lee's room. "He's ready."

Richard stopped, but only momentarily. He guided Dean to the kitchen, after having deposited the luggage in the large shaded hall, and moved to the refrigerator. "Water?" he offered. "Wine, perhaps? I have a few home-brew bottles, but I wouldn't recommend them until it cools down outside." He took a seat at the bar. "So it's time. Well," he grinned, "finally. You want us there when it's done?" Dean could have done it in London--not that Richard wasn't very happy to see them here--so he wondered at the reason.

Dean hopped, cat-like, up onto the heavy butcher block island in the center of the kitchen. "It's a bit more complicated than that, Rich." He took a sip of the bottled water in his hand. "We'd like you to be the one to do it."

"Me? Why?" wondered Richard in honesty. "He's yours. The turning, it creates an unbreakable bond. Why wouldn't you do it yourself?" He looked outside, a glass against his lips. "I must admit, I've thought for a long time that Aidan would live out his given time. He's the type, you know. What changed his mind?"

"I'm not sure why he wants it, to be honest," Dean said pensively. "I've never pushed him. We spoke about it once, one night, when he was very drunk, but I swear I have never pushed him." He swallowed. "I was so scared, for so long, that he'd never want to, and I'd have to watch him die. I wasn't I...I couldn't bear it." He wiped away tears that he didn't mind sharing with Richard. "I know how it feels, being beholden to you for giving me this life. But with it also comes deference--a feeling of somehow being lesser. And I don't want that for Aidan. I want him as an equal. A brother. Like Lee. Am I making a mistake to want that?"

Richard shook his head. "Not at all. Though I don't consider you or Lee any less, if you've thought I have. It will be an honor, being selected as a sire. It's, well, a bit of a first. Thank you. So," he leaned forward, "tell me everything. How have you been last couple of years? Lee tells me far too much about things I don't want to hear and too little about the things I'm dying to be informed about."

Dean smiled, shaking his head. "Lee will never change, I suppose. We're good. Very good. We moved into Lee's building. That pleased him. Peter wrote a show for me and Aidan a couple of years back. It was very well-received. I'm not going to lie; I was a little disappointed that you didn't come, even in disguise."

"I couldn't risk it. Lee kept a stream open the whole show, but it was too dangerous for me to get there. It's a wonderful play though. I wish I could have been there. To have a play written especially for you, by such a great director...I envy you, Dean."

Richard looked not a day older than when he had left. He basked in the lazying warmth of the sun like he was soaking it up instead of becoming drowsy of it. He smiled when he heard the door upstairs open and pulled out two more glasses on the counter.

"I had this fantasy," Dean confessed quietly, crossing one leg over the opposite knee, "that I'd come offstage to find you in my dressing room some night. I would have liked that."

" _Fantasy_. Don't talk about fantasies, Dean, or I'd have to tell you mine." Richard looked pained.

"You're talking, but I don't hear you," grinned Aidan, flinging his arms over Dean's shoulders and kissing his cheek. "Private conversation again? Lee will be here in a few. Oh, is that wine?"

The look in Dean's eyes as Richard poured Aidan a glass said quite clearly that he'd be willing to hear Richard's fantasies anytime. 

Instead, he squeezed Aidan's hand warmly. "Richard said yes," he told him.

"Good," Aidan practically purred. He momentarily forgot the things that had happened since Dean had become a vampire. Aidan had been more youthful then, more uncaring and free; he felt as youthful now, back in the company of the two men that so crisply made him recall that time. It was easy to ignore that he was here because his age was threatening to catch up with him. Taking the glass, he never broke eye contact with Richard as he took Dean's earlobe between two lips and gently tugged. A test.

The response said that Richard had not grown past it.

"Still?"

Richard looked away. "Always." It was just loud enough for the two of them to hear. "Time and distance have had little effect on my heart."

Dean stretched out his other hand and placed it over Richard's. "Mine either," he assured him. "I still want you as strongly as I did the first time I saw you. More."

Aidan looked to Richard, who was practically trembling, and back to Dean. He sighed like he was looking at two blushing children. Aidan loved Dean, but he had always known that a sliver of his partner's dedication was reserved for Richard alone. As long as that feeling would not exceed those he had for Aidan, Aidan was fine with it. "Is it possible for a man to be turned by more than one person?" he suddenly pondered. "I've been wondering, but it's not like we have a lot of people to ask. Technically, your blood would merge with mine. What if, hypothetically, it's Dean's too?"

"Of course it's possible," Dean lamented. "I'm living proof of it. But what are you saying, Aidan? That we shouldn't find one another attractive once we're bound by blood? Because I assure you, since I've fed on you, I only want you more."

"No, you sweet idiot," Aidan pecked his cheek and turned his twinkling look on Richard, leaning his chin on Dean's shoulder. "I'm saying I might want both of you to turn me. It'll be the last time you could feed on me. It should be special."

"I--" Dean was effectively stunned into silence and turned his helpless gaze to Richard's.

"We could certainly both be present," Richard told him, "but in the end, it will be either my blood or his that sires you. Mixing them might not be wise, Aidan."

"Oh." Aidan's smile fell. He trailed a path down Dean's neck with his fingers. "Well, but you'll both still be there, won't you be? I want you both there."

Dean shivered against that intimate touch despite the heat. A whimper escaped him before he realized it.

"I think Dean likes that idea," Richard smiled warmly. "I do too, Aidan."

Another kiss found its way against Dean's skin. This time it was gentler. "I was thinking tomorrow. Sleep in, get a good replenishing meal. Somewhere in the evening, when it's cooler. Don't tell Lee. I think it'll be a fun surprise." Since Lee was taking a shower, Aidan was sure he couldn't be listening in on the conversation.

Dean nodded. "I want it to be special for you, Aidan. Not terrifying and confusing like it was for me." Quickly he turned to Richard. "Which wasn't your fault," he said apologetically. "It's just that all I remember was the pain and being afraid. I want it to be different for Aidan."

"He will have it exactly the way he wants it." Richard felt unexpectedly flushed at the idea that maybe, tomorrow, maybe he could finally--

He corrected his thoughts before they could lead him astray. "Exactly how Aidan wants it. I'm so glad you chose this. I'll do my best."

"I know," nodded Aidan. "But hush. Tomorrow. Now, I think we deserve a tour."

\- - - - -

The plantation was near-idyllic. Aidan could walk there for days, exploring a new piece every day. If he wanted to, his routes would take him to a new place every day for weeks.

He came home late that evening from a shorter walk and enjoyed his night like it would be his last. In a way it was. While Dean and Richard clearly treated it as a merry occasion, for him it also symbolized having to say goodbye to his parents very soon. They would begin to notice. Friends, employment, it would all change. When the sun set, he watched it sink with melancholy.

The dawn that followed remained unseen--sleeping late made Aidan miss it. When he entered the kitchen, breakfast had long been past, and the table empty. He cherished it all; the orange juice straight from the fridge and the toast. He took the longest bath. 

And when evening came, he finally joined the others again.

Lee's eyes met Aidan's across the coffee table. "You look sad, Aidan," he observed. "Are you missing London?"

Aidan granted him a smile with that same sadness in his eyes. Lee couldn't know. "I'm saying goodbye," he said. "I'll be fine. It'll all be fine. A glass of wine. Then I'm set."

Lee was suddenly concerned. "I do hope everything's all right between you and and Dean. I know that Richard and I never argued more than when we were on vacation. I don't know what it is about vacation that causes couples distress--"

"We're not fighting," Dean assured him. "And we love to travel. We'll be visiting Ireland soon, in fact. We haven't seen Aidan's parents in ages."

Richard had his eyes on them. Aidan noticed. He finally sat down on the couch, closed his eyes, and nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be. Richard, where would be best?"

"Upstairs." Richard's throat was dry. Lee still didn't understand it, but Richard was like an open book. He was hardly ever nervous.

Aidan said it aloud before Richard could. "I came here to be one of you."

"Oh, Aidan," Lee's eyes grew wide, and he smiled happily, "I've been waiting for that for years. I'd always hoped, of course, but never presumed that'd you'd want to join us. I'm so glad. And right now...the way you look. It's perfect. A picture. I wouldn't change a thing."

Lee's eyes studied the trio. "Which of you is going to turn him?"

Aidan nudged his thumb in Richard's direction. "But Dean gets to feed first." He raised a brow. "Upstairs is probably best. Want to come?"

"I shouldn't." Lee wasn't a fool. It was obvious what was about to transpire, and he knew that--even after all these years--Aidan still didn't want him in that way. He had squandered away any chance to make a good impression long ago. "It's a very private matter. Besides," he brightened, "I have a recipe for an overnight breakfast casserole that I've been dying to try out. Tonight would be a good time for me to put that together, I think."

Dean gave him a grateful smile as he got to his feet. "I hope it's got cheese in it."

Lee chuckled. "It does. And tons of other bad, bad things."

"Sign me up, then." Dean leaned over and kissed Aidan. He held out his hand to his lover. "Ready?"

The brunet however grimaced. "Casserole. Casserole, seriously? Of course it's a private matter, and I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't want you there. You prefer to make casserole though." He felt like a bride on a rainy wedding day. "Well, if you plan on changing your mind, don't take too long." He got to his feet and walked off, up the stairs and into the master bedroom, where he promptly groaned as he sat down. Maybe not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. He was about to take the biggest step of his life and here Lee and Dean were talking about making casserole and cheese.

Dean turned to Lee. "I think he was serious, Lee. I think he really wants you there."

"He's never quite liked me," Lee said softly, looking down at his interlaced fingers. "Who could blame him? I've been awful to him."

"He knows how you feel, even if you do act like a wanker," Dean assured him, smiling fondly.

Richard scraped his throat in amusement. "Don't call him a wanker, Dean." Lee was still very important to him, and nobody called Lee a wanker to his face. "Go upstairs. Talk to him. I think Aidan needs calm words before he dives into the deep end."

"He's right," Lee sighed. "I've never been good with people. It's a wonder anyone cares for me at all."

"I care for you," Dean assured him, "and I love you just the way you are, Lee. Aidan does too."

He turned on his heels and went upstairs.

"This is big," Lee said to Richard in the silence that followed. "Really big."

"And he wants you there," smiled Richard. "Count your graces and be there for him."

Aidan sat still in the center of the bed. He was looking at his hands when Dean came in. "Is this alright?" he wondered. "Maybe it should just be you. No interference, no complications. Simple. I just, I know you'll always want him, and I thought that maybe it'd be good this way." He shrugged. "A little selfish, when it's supposed to still be all about me tonight, but that could have made it acceptable for me. Not that it's ever not been acceptable if you returned to me. But of course Lee...Lee...bloody _casserole_! What's wrong with that man?"

"He thought you didn't want him there." Dean sat down, knees just touching Aidan's. "I know he acts all confident, Aid, but you should know by now he's a lot more insecure than he'd like anyone to know." He took both of Aidan's hands in his own, "I don't know what to tell you, Aidan. Your turning--it'll be so different from mine. I was dying. Richard turned me to save my life. You on the other hand are making a conscious choice. I don't think it will hurt too much. You've already felt how it feels to be bitten. But you will _die_. If only for a little bit. I don't remember it. I remember the pain of my body healing. But you won't have that either. I don't know what happens when a completely healthy person becomes a vampire."

Dean paused. It was the first time he'd said that word in fifteen years. 

"I want this, Aidan," Dean whispered. "I want this so much. For me, yes, but for you too. You are the best person I know, and you deserve this."

For a moment Aidan could only let the words sink in. Dean always knew exactly what to say. He had had years to perfect the art, certainly, but he always gave him the confidence that he needed, when he needed it; or he would reason when Aidan was reckless. Dean always balanced him out. "You're the best thing that's happened to me," he smiled, meaning every ounce of the carried weight. "I want this. I'm afraid of it. I have no idea what will happen to me. But I know that I want what comes next. It really is the right time, just like it's time you finally gave into it and dealt with all that unresolved tension between you and him. So what if I want Lee around for purely selfish reasons?" One corner of his mouth tugged up. "Besides, it's kind of a compliment that he still wants me after decades of being turned down. But I won't have him join in, well, whatever's going to happen, unless you're comfortable with it. So if he shows up instead of making his casserole, you let me know, okay? Is Richard still downstairs?"

"I'm here." Richard leaned in the doorway. "Are there rules?"

Aidan scraped his throat. "Don't turn me until the very end."

"The very end."

"I don't need to explain the very end to you."

"No," Richard quieted, understanding perfectly, "you do not."

"Come in." Aidan extended his neck. He closed his eyes, breathed out. "Dean?"

There was nothing in the world that turned Dean on more than the soft flesh of Aidan's neck, offered up in supplication and trust. Aidan loved him. He wanted him, and he wanted this life at last.

Dean let out at soft moan of appreciation and latched his lips onto Aidan's neck. He didn't pierce the flesh but savored the taste with his tongue, lips and teeth, mapping out the expanse, a territory well traveled and well admired.

"Tell me," he whispered in Aidan's ear, "how you envision this _end._ "

Aidan swallowed under Dean's lips. "I want both of you to taste. Both of you need to drink from me," he whispered. "Then, whatever happens, happens. I want to be turned after you make me come. I don't care how you do that, but I want it to be you."

He knew that Richard could hear it all, but Aidan spoke without embarrassment. He had given it enough thought to be sure that this was how he wanted it. "Richard," he addressed the other man, "come here. You'll have your mouth on me later. We needn't be strangers."

Richard made an effort of catching Dean's eyes and gave him a long, meaningful look. Then, he climbed gracefully into bed on Aidan's other side.

"You're so beautiful, Aidan," he told the brunet, one hand ghosting over Aidan's curls and coming to rest on the nape of his neck. "I understand what a gift it is for Dean to share you with me. And for you to share Dean. I've often wondered how you would taste," he sniffed a line up the side of Aidan's neck. "Where would you like me to taste you?"

Aidan slowly tapped his jugular on Richard's side. He looked up into Richard's eyes from close proximity, then threaded his fingers into Dean's hair, tilted his head, and kissed him with the languor of a man who wanted to savor it all. "Like this," he whispered to Dean. "This is nice." When hair fell over the spot that he had appointed to Richard, he moved a hand to pull away the curls, never quite giving up on the kiss between him and Dean at the same time.

Though kissing Aidan, Dean's eyes followed Richard's every movement as the man withdrew his sharpened thumb thimble and slipped it into place. Dean knew it was so deadly sharp that Aidan would barely feel it slicing through his skin. Indeed, he barely flinched as Richard punctured his neck with an oft-practiced flick and locked his mouth over the hole he'd created.

A heady breath escaped Aidan upon feeling it. Dean had always had an instant effect whenever he fed, and maybe it would have been more latent with Richard, but it wasn't. His anticipation was quickly morphing into arousal, clutching Aidan into its hold. His eyes fell shut even when Dean pulled away, and then Richard was sealing the wound, moving past him, one arm around his waist to keep him steady while the other drew Dean close. Just as Aidan licked his lips and opened his eyes with difficulty, Richard kissed Dean.

It had been so long, so very long. Richard nearly gasped. They still had the chemistry. It had never gone, but it was certainly coming around full force now. It was still slightly weird, to have Aidan there between them, those deft fingers undoing Dean's buttons while Dean did not notice, to be kissing him and for there not to be a hundred pointless reasons to stop. "Can I borrow him?" he murmured to Aidan. Aidan nodded and, not yet done with Dean's shirt, slipped out from between them.

Unwilling to wait, Dean yanked open his light blue shirt and buttons flew. He chuckled apologetically and hurriedly tossed the item aside so that he could straddle Richard's hips, an act--finally--sanctioned by Aidan. "Here we are then," he smiled down at Richard, lifting one of Richard's large hands to cradle him around the waist. "Right where you want me."

Richard still had trouble believing it. "So you are." In the corner of his eyes he saw Aidan crawl up to lie on his side next to him, twisting just so that he didn't touch them, didn't bust their bubble, but could see Dean perfectly. Richard didn't know how he could thank the man enough. He let his eyes freely roam over the taut chest and strong arms. He liked that Dean wasn't smooth-skinned. It added something extra.

A growl, and he turned the both of them around. Within the blink of an eye, Richard had Dean's legs hooked around his hips, his knees propped under Dean's lower back, and ground down. " _Now_ you're right where I want you. You feel fucking amazing." 

Dean's hips bucked up uncontrollably, seeking contact. "If you only knew how often I've fantasized about you, Richard. Not about the stage, but really doing this. Thirty years is a hell of a long time to want someone."

Richard looked to the side, wanting to be sure that Aidan was okay with this. Where he had expected big doubtful eyes, he instead found a man who was trying to strip as unobtrusively as he could, all the while plainly aroused. 

When he found he had been caught, Aidan grinned and swooped forward to lick Richard's lips. It only devolved into a short, wet and fairly shallow kiss. "Go on, don't leave my man hanging."

The two of them surprised Richard. "You've thought about this before."

"A couple of times. Offered it once, actually. A lifetime ago. The moment passed, but you can have him now. Just don't forget about me," Aidan added cheekily. "And lose some clothing."

"Yes," Dean agreed with Aidan. "I want to see you, Richard." He didn't want to lose the close comfort of Richard's hips against his own, but the urge to get them all naked overrode it. "I am desperate to see, touch and taste your cock," Dean clarified, when Richard didn't move quickly enough.

That certainly helped persuaded him. Richard had himself undressed in under a minute without moving from his spot. He had Dean unclothed in less than that. Centuries of practice were convenient sometimes. Richard didn't bother lying down for Dean. He kissed him hotly, rubbing their hips together with all the promise he could offer. It nearly had him tremble, himself. Then he sat up, climbed dexterously over Dean's knees and further up, until his cock was unmistakably pressing against Dean's lips. "Oh God," Richard panted. "Yes, a hundred times yes."

His position left a free spot for Aidan, who gladly claimed it. While both of them were too focused on each other to notice, he moved and quite unexpectedly took Dean into his mouth. Aidan hoped they wouldn't mind. They looked beautiful together, but he longed to do more than watch.

Dean let out a surprised, relieved sigh when Aidan wrapped his lips around him. He had only a short moment to take in the welcome sight of Richard's gorgeous cock before he felt compelled to taste it.

Richard had left the door to the bedroom open--an invitation to Lee that was not lost. Yet Lee stood with his hands stuffed nervously into the pockets of his rolled up jeans, just outside, listening, not daring to look. Not yet.

Dean's hands cupped the mounds of Richard's ass, using the leverage to draw him deeper and swallow around him. He raised his eyes to find Richard's closed tightly against the sensation. 

Very little of what was happening had to do with it being Aidan's last night as a man, save for the fact that this had been on his bucket list for a while and he had figured that since he was officially dying anyway, there was no moment better suited. Richard had fed on him and spiked a desire that had already been there. He wondered, as his tongue lapped against Dean's throbbing skin, if it would be the same after he was turned. Well, he wanted to be turned regardless of the answer to that.

One hand cradled over Dean's as it gripped Richard's ass. Then it playfully slapped Richard's ass. "One of you, either of you, touch me."

A warm hand brushed his shoulder. 

"Hi," Lee smiled crookedly from next to him. "Is that invitation good for me as well? Because it will be very hard for me to stop touching you once I start."

Aidan's eyes widened in surprise. No casserole then. Nor, he noticed, his usually overconfidence. He inclined his head. "Gladly." The hungry look Lee gave him in reply made him shiver. Lee reminded him of an animal. "Shoes and socks off."

Lee chuckled, "All right then," he toed off first his sneakers, then his white socks. "I'd like, very much, to kiss you."

"Okay," said Aidan, and gave Dean's erection a final peck before rolling off him. There was enough time for Dean to object or say something, but all he heard was labored breathing and a man who paused shortly and picked up the pace again. The small whimpers that came from Dean's mouth made him want to look longer, but then Dean had wanted Richard for so long that maybe they needed a bit of time alone between them. 

And so Aidan lay on his side facing away from them, anticipation in his eyes as they followed Lee's moves. How was this man still convinced that he wanted nothing to do with him? Lee was fascinating, and bloody persistent.

"I know you probably think I'm some Lothario," Lee began, smoothing unruly curls back from Aidan's face, "but that couldn't be further from the truth. I've been with no one but Richard for...well, years, actually. As long as most people's lifetimes. If you must know, I'm a bit of a recluse, despite how I might be perceived. I don't trust easily, and I give myself permission to love even less. So imagine my surprise when I began to feel something for you, Aidan. It's as if even then I knew that this day might come. That you would be my family--my brother. I'm so happy about that." There was no hint of deception in Lee's dark eyes.

"You are so beautiful," Lee told him, and pulled him into his embrace, kissing him. "So beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes."

Aidan was baffled. Here he was lying on the sheets bare naked, expecting Lee to understand how rare that was and to swoop in. Instead he got a full love declaration. "Lee," he whispered, awkward, needing to set them straight, "that's sweet. I admit, I've wondered about you for a long time. But you understand that the largest part of my heart is Dean's, don't you? I need to know you're okay with that before you give more than you can bear to lose." He smiled softly. "Trust me, I want you here. I just need to hear you say yes."

"Can I not love you regardless?" Lee wondered. "Love you all? I have lost everyone who was ever dear to me. But you three...we will endure. I want you to at least enjoy my company--prove myself a worthwhile companion. I know my first impressions were bad ones. I swear to you," Lee whispered, "that I will always take care of you, Aidan. I will help teach you. And I will never hurt you."

"Just need us to be on the same page," smiled Aidan, put at ease. "You can do all those things." He noticed that next to them Dean and Richard had fallen silent at the conversation. "Come here, Lee," he bit his lip, "it's time you showed me what you're made of."

"You have always had a way with words, Lee," Dean told him, using his thumb to wipe the last vestiges of Richard's cum from his chin before licking it away. "He's held out a long time. But, I gotta tell you, I could tell he's always been intrigued by you."

Aidan scoffed.

"That phrase about protesting too much," Richard chuckled, "it exists for a reason."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Do it. You're both so beautiful. Take off more than that, Lee. I'd like to see your body."

Lee, out of character, blushed, but drew his t-shirt over his head in an elegant motion, revealing a hairless chest. Dean watched, unflichingly, as Lee revealed his long, slender erection, in perfect proportion to the rest of him.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes," Dean smiled, squeezing Richard's knee. "Much better."

Unexpectedly Aidan broke the silence as he pulled Lee onto the bed and opposite him. He wasted no time in kissing Lee's mouth once to break the ice, then engaged him in a thorough kiss that had Aidan grow giddy with a need for more. He failed to notice that Richard had come already. Dean had made no sound at it, and Aidan was so attuned to those sounds that he assumed they would return back to their own little world as soon as Aidan had Lee for attention.

He let out a surprised sound when suddenly he felt a mouth tracing lines on his back, a frame pulling him back to chest with someone who felt unfamiliar enough. "Richard," he panted. "Dean."

"What about Dean?"

"You..."

"Dean can do whatever he wants with me, Aidan."

Aidan thought about that and his mouth went dry. He felt a hand wrap around his erection and looked down, but batted it away when he noticed it was Richard's. "Not your turn yet." And as easy as that, he guided Lee's hand between his legs and continued their kiss.

When Richard released Aidan and turned back to Dean, the blond lay on his side, his head propped up by one hand. He grinned. "I could watch them all night," he confessed, handing Richard a small plastic bottle of lube, "but if you don't fuck me, I think I might die. I've been waiting so long, Richard. Do you think you could get it up again?"

He reached for Richard, pulling him down for a scorching kiss, letting his idol taste himself on his tongue. Aidan's needy groans had Dean wrapping one leg around Richard to pull him closer.

"In a couple of minutes," said Richard hotly in between kisses. His body recovered twice as fast, as would Dean's or Lee's. He intended to bridge that time stretching Dean until he begged for more. "I see you've been snooping in my drawer. Not interested in any of the other items?"

"What other items?" Aidan jumped in.

Richard laughed. "Lee. Bottom drawer, front left corner. Try that."

"What is it?"

"A surprise, so close your eyes."

Aidan looked at Dean. They shared a spark of intimacy at being physically disconnected but both very much turned on, before his eyes closed obediently.

Richard took that moment to push a coated finger into Dean to the knuckle.

Dean gave a gasp of pleasure, reaching for Aidan's hand. He hadn't been touched by anyone but Aidan in so very long. It was welcome, but his guilt was thick. Richard's fingers were long and elegant and _very_ good at this.

Lee had always gotten a kick out of Richard's trove of sex toys. He himself had always been a hands-on kind of man, and he really wanted his hands on Aidan at that moment, but the small, tapered prostate massager could certainly keep Aidan entertained while he touched him, couldn't it?

Reaching blindly for the lube, he coated the toy and, biting his lip, pushed Aidan's thighs apart with his shoulder until his opening became visible. "Aidan, he whispered, "am I allowed to..."

Aidan nodded in full surrender. He wasn't sure what kind of item Lee had gotten out of the drawer, but he trusted anyone to comment if it was unwise, and nobody said a thing--although Dean's gasp went straight to his cock. Richard must have touched him.

He spread his legs a little wider and squeezed Dean's hand. God, if Lee wouldn't touch him very, very soon...

Lee blew warm air on his left hand, an affectionate gesture so that it wouldn't be too cold when he used it to cup Aidan's balls and move them aside. Slowly he dipped a finger inside of Aidan, just enough to coat his entrance to give the vibrator an easier entrance.

He did not turn it on--not yet--but slowly twisted, turned and nudged it until it had reached the proper depth. At least, the depth at which it worked for Richard. The toy was one of his favorites. Caressing Aidan's scrotum with a long, languorous thumb, he slowly flipped the on switch.

The bumps in the smooth surface had Aidan purring and curling his toes. So that was what it was. It was smooth enough to slide in without needing to be royally stretched, but his entrance was still taut enough to take in the toy tightly. He hadn't used one of those in a long--

As soon as the buzz kicked in, his eyes flew open. Bewildered, Aidan grabbed for Lee's shoulder. His hips moved up on their own accord, sinuously moving to an unheard rhythm. "...Fuck. That's good, that's _really_ good." He chanced darting his free hand out to grip Lee's cock and practically mewled at the solid shaft and what that could do to him.

"Listen to him," Richard whispered in Dean's ear. "He loves it. Make those sounds for me. I've waited so long for this. I want to come in you again and again, until you can no longer stand and there's not a drop of me left." He scissored two fingers in and out of him now, and he loved having used enough lubrication to hear wet sounds whenever he pushed back in. Richard reached Dean's prostate with ease. As silent as a breath, he added, "we should drink from him. All three of us."

But the moment Dean's back bent upward at a particularly skillful nudge, Richard latched onto his neck and drew blood instead.

"Yes, _yes_!" Dean exclaimed, both in agreement and in pleasure. He hadn't had the opportunity those many years ago to be cognizant enough of the feel of Richard feeding on him. "P--please," he whispered, "take all you want. You can have whatever you want from me, Richard."

Lee let out a small chuckle, biting down gently on Aidan's right nipple, flicking the other with his fingertips. The smell of Aidan was intoxicating. "Can I then?" he asked him. "Feed on you before you're turned?"

"Fuck, yes! Is that--is Richard--Oh fuck, Lee, let me watch. I need to watch that."


	24. I'll Be Right Here Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, Aidan is turned.

Aidan had never witnessed someone feed on Dean. He had watched himself many a time in a mirror while Dean took his blood. There was something entrancing about watching them like that. Never the other way around, though. Dean had strictly forbidden any play that dealt with Aidan and his blood. For obvious reasons, of course, but oh, Aidan could not tear his eyes away from the small trickle of glistening red that Richard's lips missed.

Combining that with the continued stimulation of his sweet spot and trying to offer Lee the best hand job he could without guiding him straight to his already occupied entrance—as well as small nips that ought to be bites—he cried in frustration as he tore the device out. It was becoming too much too fast, and Aidan wasn't quite the expert in getting ready for a round two that his partner was. "I need—I—give me a second. Too hot."

Lee chuckled at Aidan's exuberance and spooned him so that he could watch the bloodplay and still run his hands along Aidan's flanks, his ass and his dick.

Dean's eyes fluttered and rolled back as he moaned in pleasure. If only it had been like this the first time with Richard. He couldn't remember. All he knew is that he wanted it to be perfect for Aidan. He deserved nothing less.

"P-push on his taint while you blow him," Dean murmured to Lee. "It drives him crazy."

"Good to know," Lee smiled, eyes following an errant drop of Dean's blood as it rolled towards the sheet below. With lightning speed, he reached over Aidan, catching it with his finger and tasting. "Not for you," he whispered to Aidan. "Not yet."

Aidan whined in response. He wanted to. In a few hours, or days—depending on the time of the transformation—he'd be able to do it too. He could finally taste Dean's after a lifetime of having only had the role of donor. He watched as Richard lined up, Dean still in bliss, and pushed in. Aidan could see everything from where he lay. The head nudged the puckered entrance and disappeared inside, and Dean's body gave way in the most delicious way possible. When Richard finally unlatched, only then did Dean seem to realize what was happening.

"Dean?" Aidan panted. "Go for it. All the way. I'll wait for you." He stretched to kiss Lee and whispered to him in not many words that Lee could do whatever he wanted, but he couldn't make him come. Not yet. Although Aidan had less and less self-restraint, he still wanted Dean to be focused on him and at least kissing him when he came.

The vibrator, when Aidan removed it, had flown across the room, and Lee didn't want to leave the bed. Not with the fervent coupling of Dean and Richard to witness. Not with a finally-willing Aidan there, waiting for his hands and his mouth. He readily soothed Aidan with gentle hands, not teasing, not promising, but waiting as they watched the pair next to them.

Dean, who had closed his eyes against the burn of the initial penetration, now had them opened and was gazing at Richard with the look of a man seeing Heaven. Indeed, he must have been if his mewls of pleasure were anything to go by. And Richard knew exactly how to cant his hips in order to make Dean see stars.

They might as well have been alone and not lying in bed with two other people—spectators at witnessing years of pent-up desire finally freed.

"H-harder, please," Dean begged. Richard easily obliged. Lee's erection twitched and wept against Aidan's thigh and he tightened his hold on the brunet, kissing along his neck, eyes never leaving the sight before him.

Aidan was breathless as he looked on. Dean had told him once that Aidan and him were vanilla. Aidan had tried his hardest for a long while to introduce some kinks into their bedroom. Looking at this however, he understood finally what Dean had meant. While the act by itself was missionary—it couldn't get more domestic than that—there was something that went _beyond_. Their every sound had Aidan's hair standing up. It was beautiful. It also reminded him of how beautiful a man he had gotten hold of; he planned never to let go of that.

Richard picked up the pace until his thrusts were nearly violent. Aidan sighed in admiration. His fingers toyed with Lee's. Slowly Richard's hips jerked and he faltered. "Come for me," he asked Dean hotly. "I want to see it."

"Ah! God, yes..." Dean groaned in agreement, interlacing the fingers on one hand with Richard's, both of them slippery with perspiration. With the other hand, he reached up and cupped Richard's cheek. Richard's face was ever-confident and supportive, yet predatory. And it was that gleam in Richard's blue eyes that pushed Dean over the edge. 

Richard was quick to follow, and they collapsed together. 

Lee reached over, smoothing curls from Dean's sweat soaked forehead. "That was something," he murmured. "I hope it's not the last time you two do that."

Dean muttered something hazy and unintelligible, rolling his head into the contact.

As soon as their eyes met again, Aidan nodded. He felt like he had hardly calmed down, and his body demanded attention, but his demeanor was nonetheless soft when he mouthed, "I love you," quiet enough not to disturb anything or anyone. He knew he held the heart of the most precious man in the world. Aidan felt incredibly proud of that. He admired the view of Richard being dragged over the edge, but most of all, it was Dean. If he wanted to do this again, Aidan knew now that he would let him.

When they started calming down, he became again aware of his own need of release. A whimper escaped him. "Lee."

"What can I do for you, sweet one?" Lee asked him, ghosting his fingers along the length of Aidan's erection. "There's no need to rush. We have all night. We have a lifetime."

"I can't last all night," Aidan shook his head. "Touch me. Blow me, put something in me, anything. But more than this."

Lee's slim fingers slid between Aidan's thighs and beneath his balls. As Dean suggested, he began moving them in a circular motion against Aidan's taint. Lee started gently, but he soon increased the pressure as Aidan began to bite his lip.

Dean slipped his thumb thimble on and got up languidly, moving to between Aidan's parted knees. A quick flick of his hand and a nick opened on Aidan's femoral artery, just south of Lee's hand. Dean's mouth closed over the small wound, while Richard leaned over to steal a kiss from Aidan.

Aidan's hand tangled immediately in Dean's cropped curls. He wanted to say something to acknowledge him there. With legs scrambling to spread wider for Lee's ministrations, Aidan's words got stuck in his throat. His body was already on fire enough without Dean's tang adding to his haze.

Richard watched them swarm around the man. He licked his lips. "Thank you." It wasn't the best timed moment to say it, yet he needed it to be set. He felt more vibrant than he had in years, and instead of mourning the thing he had wanted for decades finally being over, Richard felt grateful instead.

Reaching over, he trailed a path of kisses from Dean's shoulder to his neck. His tongue nudged the spot where he had bitten him earlier, but then it was all Aidan. Richard's mouth closed over his jugular. He broke the skin and lapped at the blood with remarkable composure, but—contrary to his earlier sip—he did not stop now.

"Oh, you're close, aren't you?" chuckled he. Aidan was, for he nodded vigorously. With another soundless whisper, he conveyed to Dean without informing Aidan, "Use your fingers. It's almost time now. Ready?"

Tears misted over Dean's eyes, even though he tried in vain to keep it from happening. They were doing this, then. Aidan was voluntarily going to die—to be reborn and stay with him forever. 

Dean nodded and smiled shakily. "Yes, Aidan. It's nearly time. Keep touching him," he entreated to Lee. "Take his cock in your hand."

When Lee complied, Dean went for Aidan's entrance, still lubed from Lee's earlier ministrations with the toy. His fingers found purchase there, seeking out Aidan's prostate with a skill borne of two decades worth of practice. He knew it wouldn't be long before Aidan came undone. He made another shallow cut and lapped greedily.

This would be the last time he'd taste Aidan while he was still human. He was going to savor each drop.

A headiness slowly took control of Aidan's system. He was bordering on the limits of how much blood his body could give. His eyes rolled beneath his eyelids, a helpless look on his face. He was so close, so very close, and yet his weakening body denied him his orgasm despite the assault of three men pleasuring him beyond what he could take.

Before long, Aidan raised his arms to rest above his head. He cried, his body convulsing, wanting Dean deeper, Lee wrapped around him in any way possible and for Richard to consume him. Faint moans rose to a crescendo. At their peak, Aidan let out a singular gasp and sank into the sheets limply while his arousal shot out of his nearly unconscious body like a dying breath.

He was breathing only barely when Richard asked Dean and Lee to slowly give him space. "Anything before we do this?" he asked Dean. "There is no turning back."

Dean lay his head down next to Aidan's. "Everything I could have possibly wanted to tell you at this moment, you already know," he kissed his temple. "I'll be right here when you wake up, Aid. Right here waiting." Lee squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, simultaneously and gently pulling him away from Aidan.

There wasn't much time.

Gone was Richard's smile. He unsheathed the sharpened blade on his thumb and dragged it across his own neck. "Drink from me then, Aidan. Don't be afraid." He leaned down over Aidan, exposing the dripping puncture to Aidan's gasping mouth. 

Aidan hardly knew what was going on. He was slipping away from his life, as peacefully as if he was slowly being poisoned on carbon monoxide. The worries of the world seemed far away from the place where he was now. Dean's voice sounded as though spoken underwater.

The blood didn't taste good, either. It was sweet but metallic, nothing like how Dean had sometimes described it to him. Aidan didn't want to drink. He simply wanted to slip away and relax. He couldn't though. A finger coated in blood ran across his lips, pushed past them to deliver the first drops of his life elixir to him.

On that point, he was lost. Aidan latched on and drank greedily. His skin itched. A fire spread through his veins. Vampirism. It was both indescribable and everything that people would say about the healthy things; he knew it was good for him; it just tasted like nothing good.

It stopped. His heart beat slower and slower, until it ended with a faint last jerk. Aidan sank back into the sheets. His life was gone from him.

Lee lay his fingers on the side of Aidan's neck, looked up at them and shook his head. "It's begun."

Suddenly chilled, Dean reached for the nearest blanket, pulling it up over the two of them. "How long?" he asked Richard. _How long will he be dead? How long will I have to see him like this?_ He left the larger questions unspoken, smoothing hair back from Aidan's peaceful face.

"It wasn't like this for me," he whispered in the silence.

"Wait for it," whispered Lee. "The body will start to atrophy if a pulse is absent for too long. The brain needs blood. It never lasts more than a minute or two. He'll have a hell of a headache from patching up that damage when he wakes up. It's the most painful part of turning, the restoration." He smiled softly at Dean, all the while listening intently for that first heartbeat. "Yours was much worse. You had a lot of damage to repair. But trust me, it'll still be a few days until his body is properly cleansed.

They fell into a silence again. A minute passed. Richard began to shift from side to side, and Lee cast him worried glances when he thought Dean wasn't looking.

The faint thud roused them immediately. "There!" Richard pressed Dean's hand against Aidan's ribcage.

Silence. Only silence.

Another beat.

And another.

Lee laughed in relief. "There, there it is. I told you." He stood up, his eyes cast down. "I should leave."

Richard inclined his head. They watched as Lee left the room, and then Richard kissed Dean's temple. Perspiration clung to his skin. "You should go too, in a bit. He made it. Now it's a maker's duty and privilege to see him through his birth properly. He will sleep a lot, but his body will also be in pain as his muscles adjust. You need not see him this way. It is not a pleasant sight."

"I'd like to clean him up," Dean said weakly, relief coursing through his body, "and move him to a fresh bed. I-I can take care of changing the sheets. We're a mess, the lot of us. I want him to be clean when he wakes up, Richard." Dean remembered all too vividly walking into the harsh light of the bathroom on that, the first night of his new life. He was covered in dried blood—and other things he'd rather not recall. "Can we do that?" he wondered, pulling on his discarded undershorts.

Richard nodded. "Take a shower. The worst will be in the upcoming few hours. After that, before he wakes up, you come back and we clean out this room and get him to a better place, okay?" His hand brushed through Aidan's slightly matted curls. It was a miracle in itself to watch him breathe in his new body. "Sun will be good for him." He smiled in defeat. "Have a shower. God knows I could use one too, but I have a job to do. You were...I don't regret waiting for that. I'd do it again any time. Your heart is his, I know, but you cannot deny our bodies being made for each other."

"The sex," Dean admitted, "was amazing. I'm sorry it was overshadowed by my worrying about Aidan. I will always worry about him, Richard."

"As you should," Richard told him. "My only concern is about what he will eat when he wakes."

Dean smiled, "We've planned for that," he told Richard. "We've arranged something."

\- - - - - 

Adam took one look at Richard's grand manor in the wilderness. "It stands to reason Armitage would live somewhere like this—holed up like an eccentric, wealthy hermit."

Jed took Adam's hand into his own. "It wouldn't matter if he lived in a hut. It would still be the house where Aidan was turned. And he's going to need you, sooner rather than later."

"I know. But not for a few days, right? I have got to get a tour of this place! Wouldn't surprise me if there actually was a hut in the woods somewhere, like some shack when he's tired of the big house. Though why he'd be tired of the house, I wouldn't know." He shifted his baggy T-shirt—they made him look less sweaty than he felt—and crossed the last mile-or-so of the drive. The house was even bigger up close.

"How do you make so much money?" Adam asked dryly. "This is ridiculous. Does nobody wonder?"

Jed, who had met Adam at Rob Kazinsky's funeral, had immediately felt a connection to him that day. It would be several weeks later before he worked up the courage to ask the younger actor out to dinner. Within a year, they were living together.

Adam had a thing for older men; that was no secret. But when the day came when Adam started to look the same age as Jed—and then, older—Jed knew he had to tell him the truth about what he truly was. The confession wasn't met with tears or begging to be turned. Instead Adam had asked, "Promise it will be me and only me for as long as I live."

It was a promise Jed would keep. 

When Dean called them out of the blue about a trip to Buenos Aires, and Aidan wanting to turn, he requested that Adam volunteer for Aidan's first feeding. "I want it to be a friend, someone he can trust," Dean explained.

Adam didn't hesitate. Besides, he and Jed were going on a cruise after.

"You know darn well where we get the money, darling," Jed caressed Adam's cheek, looking deep into his eyes. "Give me your wallet?"

Adam's hand was reaching towards his back pocket when he realized what had been done to him. "I fall for it every time!" He punched Jed lightly on the shoulder. "You are so lucky that I love you."

"More than you know," said Jed. He had come a long way from the disaster and shame that had been turning Rob. Taking Adam's hand, he squeezed it and walked the last few yards up to the door.

Before he could knock, a voice summoned their attention to the patio on the right. "Finally!" Richard was upon them in a second and drew Jed in a hug before he extended the courtesy to Adam. "I was beginning to think I'd have to go looking for you. Your flight plan said nine in the evening." It was morning now. "Have you had a safe trip? Here, let me get your suitcases inside. You'll stay for a few days, won't you? Lee wasn't specific when he mentioned you coming over. Not to worry, we've got plenty of space available."

"I was very specific!" Lee called from the house. The sound carried through one of the open windows. "Five days!"

"Right, right," Richard chuckled. "Sorry. Other things on my mind. Well, either way, have you slept? If you haven't, I'll get you a room right away. Otherwise you might want to join us for a late breakfast."

"Breakfast sounds gr—"

"Oh, I haven't sle—"

Jed and Adam looked at each other and grinned. Jed was awake, and Adam was not; their choices were obvious.

"Can I see Aidan first?" Adam asked Richard when Jed stepped aside. "I'll take a nap later."

Richard nodded. "He's inside. Dean is with him. The room at the far left up the stairs." The sunbathed room; Lee's room. "Go wherever you like in this house."

The house was gorgeous, Adam learned. The huge windows let in plenty of golden sunlight. Plants were hung in earthen pots from the ceiling, and ferns fanned light in saturated green hues into the house. It had to be a challenge to maintain all those plants. When he finally found the room Richard had directed him to, the door was wide open.

It housed a California king sized bed, upon which Aidan lay sleeping. Dean sat next to him, propped up by some pillows. He held a Kindle in one hand, but didn't appear to be reading. The other hand was on Aidan's arm.

Adam cleared his throat and Dean's gaze shot up. 

"Adam!" he cried, but softly, so as not to disturb Aidan. Dean got up and ran to his friend's side, hugging him tightly. He had not aged in all these years since he was turned, but there was a definite maturity and wisdom to his actions. "You've gotten some gray hairs," Dean smiled warmly.

"Naturally," smiled Adam, returning the hug in equal measure. "This place is amazing. I never thought Richard to like being surrounded by nature this much." He peeked over Dean's shoulder. Aidan looked peaceful. A film of perspiration lay over his skin, but then again that could easily be accredited to being covered with a winter blanket in this heat. "How long ago was he turned?"

"Last night. About twelve hours." Dean followed Adam's worried gaze. "Richard says everything looks good. It's nothing like how it was for me. Or Lee. Lee was very ill at the time and he said it took him almost a week to recover. Richard thinks Aidan will be up walking around tomorrow. It doesn't seem as if he's in any pain. I'm glad it was easier for him."

Dean squeezed Adam's arm. "You sure you're still up for this? Letting him feed on you?"

Adam sat down at the edge of the bed. "Jed's been doing the same for as long as I can remember. You wouldn't ask me if it wasn't safe." He leaned closer. "It doesn't hurt though, right? Like really really hurt for hours straight? I'm really tired right now. If I need to recover from it, maybe it's best that I get some sleep first. God, taxi drivers in this country..."

Dean smiled and confessed, "Well, Richard fed on me a bit last night. I hardly felt a thing. Doesn't Jed feed on you already, Adam?"

"Well, nips, sure. But actual life-or-death feeding, not really. Has he woken up yet?"

"Not really, no," Dean sat back down next to Aidan, smiling fondly. "He did talk in his sleep a bit, but that's nothing new." He withdrew his thumb thimble from his pocket and showed it to Adam. "He'll probably use one of these on you. They're really sharp, so it hardly hurts when they cut you. Richard had one made for him. Thank you again for doing this, Adam. It'll make a world of difference to have a friend here for him when he wakes up."

Graced with a yawn, Adam nodded. "All right. 'Sides, you'll be there. I trust you two." He looked around; his eyes kept turning back to Aidan. Somehow Adam's eyes just kept ending up there. It wasn't that he looked good—well, he had looked better—but there was a force around him, even asleep. "Can I close my eyes somewhere?" he asked without drawing his eyes away.

"Richard gave us the room next door," Dean gestured with his thumb. "Go on and sleep there on our bed. I won't be going anywhere until he's awake," Dean assured him. "Everything's going to work out all right, I promise."

It was at that point that a sound escaped Aidan. He winced in his sleep and his lips moved like wanted to wet them. Adam stood stock still immediately. "He is supposed to do that, isn't he?"

Aidan moved again. Clearly too hot, his legs started on kicking the sheets off.

"I was frightfully hot when I turned," Dean said gently, lifting the blanket off Aidan. "Hand me that bottle of water?" he asked, reaching out a hand and sat down next to Aidan to place a cool hand over his brow.

"I'm right here, Aid," he whispered, "right here with you."

When he opened his eyes, Aidan's pupils were milky. He couldn't focus, only frown in confusion. As soon as he felt water on his mouth, he calmed down and laid back. The cool of the water bridled the heat building up in him, though one bottle was not enough. As soon as it was finished—and it was finished fast—a whine began to rumble in his throat. He was like a blind infant, not yet mature enough to go into the world.

"Run for Richard or Lee!" Dean commanded Adam. "And bring back water," he added, "Please?" an afterthought, as his every concern was for Aidan.

"Darling," Dean lay down next to him, a tentative arm around his waist, "are you in pain?"

Frightened that Aidan could also come out of this for the worse, Adam wasted no time. His fatigue temporarily forgotten, he sped down the stairs and outside where Richard had been. He caught Richard halfway there, down in the hall.

"He's moving!" He pointed up to the room. "He needs water!"

Richard calmly smiled. "Yes, I imagine he would. But you, my friend, should be getting some sleep. I'll go see him." He gestured for Jed to follow as they fetched water from the bathroom, dropped Adam off in a bed, and headed to see Aidan.

Aidan was in a poor state. He looked helpless. His limbs wouldn't move as he wanted them to, and he had yet to recognize Dean. Richard kissed him on his forehead and told him to lie down before he turned to Dean.

"I meant being reborn quite literally. This is normal, Dean. Don't worry. He's awake. Just a few more hours now before he can walk again." He crouched down in front of him. "Are you sure you don't want to lie down for a bit? Lee has offered you several times to take over watch, and you know he's not wholly unselfish in his request."

"I...I trust you both," Dean told him, suppressing a yawn that only served to underline Richard's claim. "I know he'll be okay. I suppose you're right, Richard." He stood. "I'll never sleep if I stay here with him. I'll only worry. I'll go next door and catch a nap with Adam. But please, promise you'll come for me when he's ready to see me? When he's ready to feed?"

Lee, who had come to the door and stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, inclined his head. "Of course we will, Dean. Now off with you, before I have to hit you over the head with a hammer."

Dean leaned over and kissed Aidan softly on the forehead. "Okay," he agreed, brushing past them and out the door. 

Lee took Dean's seat next to Aidan. He patiently picked up a book of his own and proceeded to watch over him with a softer look on his countenance than he had before.

Their only remaining guest was given a tour of the house, quietly so as not to disturb anyone. When they finished that, Richard and Jed went outside for a chat with tea in the shade of a large garden tree. They shared worlds, talking about how their lives on other sides of the globe were working out; the newest trends in London, the best places to go around Buenos Aires. They talked of everything but Will and Rob.

The time passed pleasantly for the men asleep and those outside.

In the sunny room, Aidan finally woke.

"Where is Dean?" came a rasp in the silence.

"Good morning." Lee reached for the bottle of water near the bed and handed it to Aidan after unscrewing the top. "Richard insisted Dean go to bed. He was worrying himself sick over you. Would you like me to go get him?"

Aidan sat up and tested his legs. He folded them under his frame, tentatively touching his toes with his fingers. He felt...strong, but also famished. The events of the night before returned to him. He parted his lips. Sound came out with a delay and a confused look. "You love me. Why didn't you tell?"

"I didn't love you, long ago when I started coming on to you so dreadfully," Lee explained. "I just found you attractive. But I've come to love you over the years. And last night, well, I thought you needed to know. We're family now. I wanted you to understand that I have your back, Aidan. and I'm here to help you learn and be one of your companions as you discover things."

Aidan's raven hair was thick and shining on his shoulders. Gold highlights had appeared in his dark eyes, surrounding a corona of red.

"The change was kind to you," Lee told him, "but you are still going to have to feed soon."

That prompted Aidan to focus on his own body again. Right, he was different now. Not at all how he imagined it to be. He realized he felt oddly normal. His skin fit like a glove and any wrinkles of age had disappeared. His joints were supple. No, Aidan corrected himself. Not normal.

He felt young.

"I'd like to see him. But, Lee?" Aidan carefully smiled. "Thank you. You mean a lot to me, and I don't regret last night. I doubt Dean feels much differently. Him and Richard, well...But I think I need some time alone with him now. Could you do that?"

"Of course," Lee reached for his bookmark and placed it fastidiously into his book, closing it. "I'll go wake him." He stood and walked to the door, where he turned around to say, "Last night...it was glorious. I'm glad you've joined us Aidan. I hope it's not the last time we get to enjoy one another."

Then he left without another word.

A minute later, Dean bounded into the room. He paused in the doorway when he saw Aidan sitting on the edge of the bed. "Look at you," he whispered, walking closer and kneeling before him. He studied Aidan's face, took one of his hands in his own, turning it over and over. "Oh, Aidan," he looked up at him with worshipful eyes, "you're beautiful."

"If it took you this long to notice it, I must have done something wrong." Aidan looked almost shy as he looked up. "I haven't seen myself yet. No mirrors in this room or this house, except for the bathroom. I think I've got a killer headache developing, actually, and God, an unimaginable aching hollow where my stomach is supposed to be. Was it bad? When I changed, was it bad? I can't remember anything. Except, well, what happened before I turned."

Dean shook his head. "It wasn't bad at all, love. You just fell asleep, and then you woke disoriented. Feverish. But it passed. And here you are. I meant to be here for you when you woke, but apparently I was insufferable with worry. Richard made me go to bed," he smiled fondly. "Adam's here, like you asked. He's taking a shower. He'll be ready for you soon. That feeling in your stomach means you're ready too. It's a little scary, that first time. But he's done it before...you know, with Jed. And he's very willing, Aidan. How I envy you this ease in your transition."

"Yours was very different," Aidan acknowledged. He was glad he had been spared Dean's terrible transition, but somehow he felt a little guilty for having worried all of them for it. He leaned closer. "Is that gray hair still there? Can I take a shower before Adam too? Does he have any special wishes, like outside, or with Jed around? I—oh, it's still spinning. My heart is beating so _fast_ ," Aidan said wide-eyed. "And you smell really good."

"The dizziness will pass once you feed," Dean smoothed his hair away from his face. "And that troublesome gray hair—which you easily could have plucked out, by the way—it's gone. You'll see when you go to the bathroom. Dean got up and opened the door to Lee's private bath. "The heartbeat, that's normal, and in a few days you won't even notice. The smells," he chuckled, leaning over to sniff behind Aidan's ear, "that you must endure, I'm afraid. It's part of who we are. You smell funny because of the change. Trust me, you don't smell nearly as bad as I did. I smelled like," he shuddered, "well, I can't begin to describe it. Will you need my help in the bathroom?"

"I’ll be okay." Aidan kissed him. He had to pull back soon though, because he certainly wasn't strong enough for the powerful wave of emotion and physical _response_ that came over him. "I just need to get clean."

Aidan stayed in the bathroom for longer than half an hour. The door was locked from the inside, and several times Dean or Lee knocked to check if he was alright. Aidan wasn't always, but he kept refusing to let them come in to help. He wasn't helpless, he told himself. Besides, it was rather frightening how weak he became when he needed blood. Nobody needed to see him in that state.

Apparently Richard knew though. As soon as the lock came off, the man stepped inside, supported him only when he needed it, and guided him to the other bedroom where Adam sat waiting. A lump rose in Aidan's throat. He was going to hurt one of his best friends. "How do you do it?" he asked nobody in particular.

"Hi," Adam smiled up at him, and Aidan was struck by how much older his friend looked today, and would continue to look over time.

Dean stood solidly behind Adam and squeezed his shoulder.

"I've had something crafted for you," Richard said, stepping forward. He held a small red velvet pouch. "I'm sure you've seen one of these before," he said gently, opening it to reveal Aidan's own personal thumb thimble. "Careful, it's sharp and requires only a little bit of pressure to cut through skin. Use it on your dominant hand," he instructed, placing it in Aidan's palm.

"Like this," Lee showed him his own left hand, where the silver object gleamed.

It was with plain awkwardness that Aidan let his friends instruct him in the first steps of taking a man's blood. He kept looking at Adam, silently asking him if he was still okay with this. He met with stubbornness. Adam wasn't going to yield.

"How do I know when to stop?" he asked.

"Adam will tell you," Jed assured him. "Remember the first time Dean fed on you? You began to feel light-headed. He'll tell you when it gets to that point. It's up to you to stop."

"He'll stop," Adam said gently, pulling Aidan down to sit next to him. "I know he will. You guys should leave us alone for a bit."

"Is that what you want, Aid?" Dean asked him.

"...Maybe." Three men were looking down at him, waiting for him. "Jed should stay." He slipped the item on, and didn't ask Richard how he had gotten his size right—it fit perfectly—but inspected it from all sides, then waited apologetically for the others to leave.

The doors remained shut for only a short while. It mattered not, because Dean could hear everything that went on on the other side of the wooden panel, as could Richard and Lee. Aidan murmured something to Adam, and Adam acquiesced. He breathed in, gasped, and then his heartbeat picked up. A rustle. A long silence. Then Adam's weight fell onto the bed. Jed kissed his skin.

Footsteps to the door. The lock being turned.

When Aidan's eyes met Dean's, he smiled predatorily, pushed past the others, and lifted Dean up with ease. His eyes were swirling.

"Bedroom, love," he grinned. "Now."


	25. Love at First Bite (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time moves on, and our story comes to and end. For Aidan, Dean, Lee and Richard, it's just the beginning of another chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “No more let life divide what death can join together.”
> 
> ― Percy Bysshe Shelley, _Adonais_

**Some years later….**

In a city that celebrates fine dining as an art form, Broussard's had been a New Orleans fixture for nearly 150 years.

Greta waited at the usual table by the window for her old friend Tiffany. _Old,_ of course, in the length of time they had been friends—since their childhood in the 1980s. Though both women were now octogenarians, neither would admit to actually being old in the literal sense of the word.

Greta raised a bejeweled hand to her friend as Tiffany entered the restaurant, looking dashing in a tailored black and white suit. "The foie gras looks especially promising today, chère," she smiled warmly over the rim of her second mint julep.

"Sorry for being late." Tiffany quickly slid into her usual spot. She tapped a small black device just behind her ear. "It's been glitchy. I haven't gotten ‘round to taking it back to the shop yet." Her daughter would always tell her to update to a flashy newer edition, and Tiffany wasn't all that in love with the current revival of bigger models. "Did you order yet?"

They always had foie gras when they hadn't seen each other for a few weeks, as it was by far Broussard's most popular dish. The ladies were regulars, too, and that meant that nobody looked twice when they used the table as though it had been standing outside under one of the parasols.

Tiffany sighed in bliss after the first sip of her drink. "Great day. I got the neighbor to fix that sink for me. Didn't have to do a thing myself; what a darling. And I don't mind him bending over in my kitchen on a hot day like today, either," she grinned. "Life's good, Gret."

Greta chuckled, a blush rising when she felt her drinks kick in. "You always did have a way with men, Tiff," she conceded, "but I have a few skills of my own." She waved in the direction of the bakery across the street and a young man with shoulder length, curly dark hair and a wide smile waved back at her. "That's Aidan," she said primly. "He's from Ireland."

Tiffany's brows rose with interest. The man across the street was in quite a different league from her plumber. "Now _he_ could come over and fix my pipes anytime," she muttered. "Good God, Gret, tell me he lives in the neighborhood."

Greta nodded, taking a rather long pull on her cocktail. "He does. Remember I told you that some people purchased the old Mayeux mansion—the one that was so badly damaged during Hurricane Katrina that the family left it to rot, deserted? Well, as it is, Aidan and a few of his 'friends' bought it." She punctuated the word _friends_ by using her fingers to make meaningful quotes in the air. "Crews worked on it nearly every day for about a year. The boys moved in a few weeks ago," she smiled, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh!" Tiffany sat up straighter. She grinned and waved when the man in question noticed her sitting next to Greta—who had obviously met them already—and offered her a short bow and a smile that was almost devilish in how it could melt hearts like they were made of butter on a particularly hot day. "I did notice the construction workers, but it's been in the scaffolds for so long, I thought it would be some wealthy CEO renovating it for a summer house or something. Aidan looks young. His friends," and while she was curious what Greta meant by that, she used the same emphasis, "are they older?"

"Hard to say." Greta turned back to face Tiffany when it became painfully obvious that she'd been staring at Aidan. "They all seem to be about the same age. I'm not up on the lingo, but I think they're couples. Two gay couples. Is it still okay to say _gay?_ What with all the legislation, I've lost track," she giggled girlishly.

"Whatever," Tiffany shrugged, her aged finger curling gracefully around the stem of her glass. "You don't mean disrespect; that's what's important, isn't it? Still, what a pity. So he's seeing someone. I could have set him up with Albert. He's quite a bit of eye candy." She leaned closer with a conspiratorial smile. "Tell me about the others. Two couples? Sure, the house is big enough, but I never heard of the address being split into A and B. That means they share the house, don't they?"

"One's a doctor, I think," Greta told her, "although of what type I'm not sure. He's tall, very well mannered from what I've seen. He likes to putter around in the greenhouse, too. You should see how beautiful it is since they restored it, Tiff! American, that one is—unlike the rest of them. They're a hodgepodge of nationalities."

She paused in her description of her new neighbors long enough for the two of them to order from the waiter who came to the table.

"So," Greta again leaned forward conspiratorially, "Aidan's lover. He's blond. Very handsome. Every time I see him, he's got a camera around his neck. Rumor has it he takes photos for a living. I haven't heard him speak yet, but my sources say he's Australian."

"Is that him?" asked Tiffany, noticing a blond man approaching Aidan.

She didn't need the answer though; as soon as Aidan noticed his presence, he spun around and pulled the blonde close to kiss him quickly. He looked like he was always smiling, and Tiffany and Greta would probably both agree that they couldn't blame him. The man was clearly in love, and as if they'd only met a month ago. But they probably hadn't, considering the duration of the renovations.

"Oh," gaped Tiffany, "would I love to hear that man speak Australian. How on Earth did you get to know them, Greta? Promise you'll introduce me. And that house, good God, it's always had potential, but if these men live in it now..." She leaned back in her chair. "Wonder how they decorated their bedrooms."

Greta smiled. "Truth be told, I was just at the right place at the right time. There's one more. Richard, I think his name is. He's so beautiful it hurts to look at him. He's an actor, I think. He's on the board of cemetery preservation as well. He's doing something to clean up the city's memorial sites. It's amazing. Perhaps he has a relative buried here somewhere."

A waiter placed two neatly plated masterpieces of foie gras on the table and nodded to them, momentarily distracting them from the view. They turned their seats back to the table for a bite, but they both kept glancing back outside, in case one of the men happened to pass by again. When after ten minutes neither had, they assumed that it wouldn't happen again today, and so they changed their talk to the weather lately and to that hideous big hair revival that neither Greta nor Tiffany could understand much, as well as the best ingredients for Bloody Marys. 

Finally Greta noticed from her angle that a few tables away from them was appointed to two new, familiar guests.

"I don't get how you can go for steak on a day like today," she heard one of them say, with obvious amusement.

"It's time for steak any day, love," the other replied. "Just because you decided on a salad..."

"We have company." Greta looked for all the world like a love-struck schoolgirl and not a seasoned woman of 86. "The blond is called Dean, if my memory serves. And he does love steak. They're always grilling over in that backyard of theirs. You should see the gorgeous patio they put up. And don't get me started on the swimming pool!"

Greta found it hard to concentrate on her food with Aidan's snapping dark eyes so close-by. "Honestly, Tiff, he makes me feel tingles in places that haven't tingled since 2005."

They giggled between them, Tiffany lazily batting at Greta's shoulder. By now the two men were obviously aware of their attention, but they simply smiled—Aidan waving discreetly at them—and eased into their seats. They moved like they communicated without words. Not too long after, Dean too raised a brow and glanced over.

"Morning, neighbor," Aidan chuckled. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

Tiffany coughed and turned beet red. She nudged Greta to reply.

"It certainly is," Greta agreed readily. She extended her hand. "I'm Greta Trudeau. Would you two gentlemen let a couple of old ladies buy you some drinks?"

"We'd love that," Aidan's friend Dean smiled. "When are these two old ladies expected to arrive, I wonder?"

This set both Greta and Tiffany to giggling. "Oh, you _do_ know how to charm," Greta smiled, collecting herself. "And what a lovely accent you have. Australia?"

"Close," he accepted her offered hand and kissed the back of it. "New Zealand. I'm Dean. I've seen you out tending your garden. Our housemate, Lee, is very proud of his orchids. You should come see them sometime."

"Oh, she's got a lovely wisteria in the yard; tell him he needs to come over and see it!" Tiffany said before her friend got a line in about how she would undoubtedly pale in comparison to Lee's magnificent garden.

She really didn't know what else to say. They were handsome and kind, and experience had taught her that usually people like that combined with something else being off. Nobody was that perfect. But Tiffany couldn't find it. They looked happy together, and very comfortable with who they were. "Your friend is Irish, isn't he?" she blurted out. "How did you meet?"

"We met at university," Dean told her, reaching out without concern for what others thought, and running the back of his fingers down Aidan's cheek, as if they were alone in the room. "It seems like a lifetime ago." He smoothed a spot of powdered sugar from Aidan's shirt, pride in his eyes. "He just bought the bakery across the street ten days ago. Aidan makes the most incredible dark chocolate croissants. It's a wonder I don't weigh four hundred pounds."

Greta needed only look at her friend to know what she was thinking.

"Oh, we didn't meet at pâtisserie," Aidan declined. "Dean here loves to eat what I make, but actually we both went to art school. He took a drama class, and I majored in drama. Turns out I was better at working with my hands. We saved some money and friends of ours asked to move in. I would have never been able to afford all of that otherwise."

Aidan shared a knowing look with Dean.

"Well, what are you thinking of naming it?" Tiffany inquired. “The bakery, I mean?”

Dean chuckled, blushing a bit. "It's called _Love at First Bite_ ," he confessed. "We're expecting the sign and window dressing to arrive today. That's why we're hanging out near the store, see. Aidan couldn't resist running a test batch earlier. I'm going to put a photography studio upstairs," Dean told them. "Why don't you two come over after you finish lunch? Aidan can give you a tour. It's a gorgeous old building with all the original woodwork. Besides, he needs someone to try out his new chocolate drizzled croissants."

"The place is still a bit messy," Aidan was quick to warn them. "We cleaned up before moving stuff in, but we didn't yet get everything where it's supposed to be. Most of Dean's frames still need to be put up." He squeezed Dean's hand in his; a gesture for everyone to see. They weren't afraid of what anyone might think. The general consensus toward a man loving another man had changed over the last couple of decades and certainly for the better, but, while New Orleans was a shining beacon, the rest of the South still had its pockets of communities who would not tolerate it.

They ordered a steak and a meatball sandwich, cool drinks on the side, and finally moved their coats and belongings over to the table. Greta and Tiffany's hearts had already been stolen by these young men with so many possibilities open to them. They talked of their own history, of their grandchildren and simpler times, but also the road trips and the drunken laughs. For a while they both felt as young again as they were at heart.

Aidan did end up showing them the bakery while telling them about the other two men who shared the Mayeux mansion. They both had a separate half of the house on the top floor, so they didn't have to share bathrooms—unless they wanted to; implied but never voiced, and Greta got a little warmer when she read that implication—but they shared the kitchen and the living quarters.

"Lee's a doctor," Dean explained to them, not suppressing his pride. "He's doing independent research at Tulane Cancer Center. Richard just started up an acting workshop in the Quarter. They're both away a lot during the day, but when they're here they're always puttering around—Lee in the greenhouse, mostly. Richard has been working on the mosaic tile in the foyer, which you saw."

Greta could tell the foyer would be gorgeous when the tile work, an intricately-planned and expensive pattern, was complete. Did these men have no end of talent?

"We hope you'll come back and visit," Dean encouraged as they left the bakery, both of them jealous of Aidan’s flaky croissants, and each with three more of the delicacies in a white wax paper bag.

Tiffany nodded fervently. She hooked an arm in Greta's and was reluctant to go, but equally reluctant to cut away from the couple's time. After all, they were expecting a delivery, and Tiffany and Greta had not expected for their lunch to last this long either.

"Greta?" Tiffany leaned in as soon as they were out of sight. "I think I'm a little in love."

"Just a little?" Greta raised her eyebrows. "My goodness, I feel as if I need a cold shower. I also feel forty years younger. Is that even possible? Maybe it's something in the air, or in those heavenly croissants."

"Or in the eyes of that man," said Tiffany, fanning herself. Minutes later they passed the Mayeux mansion. It had been abandoned for so long that it was unreal how much it had improved in a year, but better still were its inhabitants. She hoped they'd stick around for a while.

And stay they did—until Greta and Tiffany, and their children, and even a few of their grandchildren, had passed away.

And then, they moved on. 

For Lee, Richard, Dean and Aidan, life was an ongoing production—filled with an endless wealth of knowledge and adventure—and they would play whatever roles they wished until they decided they were ready for their curtain calls.

It would be a long time yet.

****

The End

****

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always bittersweet posting the final chapter of a story. This is the longest thing we've written together to date. We're so invested in the worlds we create, and we hope it shows. We hammer away on computers on opposite sides of the globe, yet somehow, miraculously, things come together.
> 
> Your ongoing feedback and words of encouragement mean so much to us. Thanks for continuing to support an addiction that takes so much out of us, yet gives so much back at the same time.
> 
> Our next story will bring the universe of "The Hobbit" into a modern setting -- a world where chemical/nuclear war has nearly wiped out the human population and only pockets of civilization remain. Hope you'll stick around for it!
> 
> Thorny and Blue


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